Meals born in the morning,
nursed over an afternoon.
stripped of domesticity
cause the kids aren’t home.
or more precisely,
as an afterthought to last night’s fight,
resonating, unresolved in D minor.
in this corner
8 feet and 250 pounds of solid Mexican pine
raw blonde wood
fine dining
bathed
in pool hall light.
There’s the bell.
time lapse
season of coffee cups,
bills and backpacks
dull pencils and papers to sign.
Exhausted bottles of wine--
knocked out every night.
for the main event,
we unleash a litany of every
natural phenomena
even vaguely connected to the food on our table:
Sub-atomic elemental mechanics of evolution;
the reproductive zeal of our civilized ancestors;
durable seeds and delicious animals
so capably domesticated.
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