After The Cook, the Thief, his Wife & her Lover
The Wife's Revenge

You give the gifts in this relationship,
not I. The toothbrush,
the wooden spoon, the plastic train...

Now it's my turn.
Your present lies on a bed of leaves,
cauliflower heads split wide open. 

Its skin is gold
and crackling like the earth
in rainless Ethiopia.

Don't tell me you wish to keep your figure
like that starving people you so mocked.
Don't tell me the smells of the roast don't tempt you,
the fingers of steam fail to pleasure --

your nose
is not my vulva.

Everyone had a hand in it,
from the chef to the waiters to the busboy.
Even the guest whose naked body
you smothered in shit on the street,

he brushed the glaze.
You say you wouldn't eat it but 
we know you like to gorge yourself.
Cock and swine, slop and mussel:

to you, they're not much different
from a man,

not least some man I fucked.

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