Feast on Celebration Day

(Warning! - A rather salty, distasteful poem!)

They gathered with Heartland humor and South pride
Murdered some meat for a special feast
Yes, greens, corn with bread and beans in heat
But, the main course always needs dark meat.

They sautéed each wet morsel with delight,
Seasoned each red portion well alright,
Raw meat was left to sit and cure 30,000 nights,
Brooding, they anticipated every tangy bite.

The mallet let down its pulverizing blow,
Its hammer mouth let ruled a sorry show,
That gamy meat was young, but tough …
And the hunters couldn’t eat soon enough.

Spoon up, fork down,
The knife cut deep without much sound,
Fork up, spoon down,
There wasn’t enough dark meat to go around!

The day before celebration day,
Town butcher and family go away,
Mr. Butcher doesn’t eat dark loud meat,
He says, “You can never tell what you’ll find in it” ...

The above text is copyright © ShyPoet1 ~ 2004,
and may not be reproduced without permission.