The banquette’s
been lade.
To serve of,
so fit,
that every tongue licks!

Fulfilling, that cavernous ail. . .

Spewed out and spattered,
grounded,
against a cold stone of bones.
Now,  they eat lam alone for the lurch
and, desert, with a loaf of lurking,

pieced off.

Washed down, sinking. . .
Percolating in
that cup of culpa; spite
pouring out,
order up,

the "Drizzles of Death!"

Besprinkled in their drool
". . . And the drivel’s?"
Spatted and slobbered,
clabbered in the riddles. . .
Some, might go for the whole rack, or, better yet, egg on,

in the fire . . .

Sliced, spat,
and skewed,
into those sticky throes before them!
Scraping,
thin-skinned,

God-willing!

"Who, still lives
bruised in their batters,
beaten up. . .
crumbled with age on top?"
Look out their shudders!

Their walkaway’s, now empty, wavering. . .

Earnest in thy self. . . 
"Pity . . . I’m still here.",
some, will utter . . .
or, ". . . for forever, I’ve been left behind!"
His responds . . . ?

He replied!

But, my question is, "Why did he have to die?"
I have tried and tried,
not to cry
...and yet, "Has he any tears?"
It’s been years!

Alone, without him . . .

For years, I ‘ve walked in this never-ending fog
while he’s up there . . .
with God!
Without sin!
Without any bane!

"Do you know I walk with a cane, now?"

"Does anyone have enough sense to pick up my tab?"
Mines’ the entree with the soft diet. . . .
The cutlas had ramifications!
My fork still attacks, in tine, and the knife still stabs;
The recipe has changed. That’s all!

(Somehow, "they" still call it life, though . . . )

Copyright 2008
Kimmy Van Kooten