Be kind to your stomach

LULLABY
by
Lucille Bellucci


April's Fool of the tyrant stomach
which surcease will not grant
its bearer from relentless battle,
internal minings
Of viands gobbled with such delight in
midst of day and returned to attack, such vicious!! assaults
Upon encroaching sleep, which still eludes
at
This hour of the bells, hells? perhaps belles, but no
Glass slippers upon these feet, oh no, rather shards of glass of said slippers
exploring the concavities
Of that region below the breast that I would
cut away and
Throw to the dogs, or hogs, into the bogs.

Do I malign said viands? Such innocent juxtaposition
of lettuce and tomatoes,
eggplant and goat cheese

(and dollop of sour cream, a crescent of avocado,
and were there fried onions?)

encased in pita, innocent
flat unleavened bread of Egypt

The culprit then must be caffe latte, downed with bliss, only a glassful,
ordinary to most, but
nearly fatal to me.
The cock crows, I hope soon, but really half my life away from this hour of....can it be?? only 1:30 after midnight.

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