Last night, I had a small conversation with a Californian Poet via the internet. We talked philosophy, which often gets me into another realm of thought. She used the word “Meat” to symbolize certain women as- sexual objects. To me this provoked some really deep thoughts which evolved into the poetry piece you see before you. I feel from first reading, this may be one of my better pieces. Thank you Enedina.
The Butcher and the Chef< ?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />
Once classified by other women
as a whore,
She waits:
For anyone.
The butcher is first on the cutting block.
With every blow by his instrument,
Another sinew is sliced,
Till in the end there are only tears.
The cleaver:
In the grip of a masculine hand
coldly carves random flesh,
for consumption.
A fatty piece,
Turned hard,
Remains soft at the loin,
Sweet and juicy.
Initial proceedings,
Perfect to the butcher’s eye:
cleaned and prepared
feelings avoided: satisfaction
Meat is simply sustenance
to a hungry palate,
Nourishment.
Stales.
A chef’s fingers,
Vision intrigue.
A delectable treat,
Some thing so sensitive: a woman
Passion clears the mind.
Delicious, the mentor infuses,
Creation on to waiting flesh;
A separation of love and hate.
With each sway,
With each move,
A delicacy blooms,
Every tear stripped away.
Till in the end,
There remains a dish,
So succulent,
Only a fool could tell:
It’s not love.