06-15-2025, 09:13 AM
Preface: this is hot, meaning it's live for submission. I've only put this one in a handful of times to a few publications, but it's been a resounding no so far. Please let me know what's not working, I'll take another look at it. Thank you so much in advance for your feedback.
Content warnings for cannibalism, war, grotesque imagery, clinical language...(if I've missed some, I apologize, and if this needed to be in the title, I'll make sure I change it)
Extravagant Breakfast
I wonder if a burning womb shares
the smell of pork also.
Human flesh carries the same
scent as soldiers
bringing gingham-clad Freedom
folded into wicker-woven rifles.
No one wants it, though.
You see, it reeks
raised from a tin like gelatinous meat:
processed, preserved, perforated with a fork
then fried in sweet brine.
If I’m to have such an extravagant breakfast
how can I enjoy the taste of rot?
I’m hungry of course,
ravenous
for human meat.
I am your man,
made of mangles on gas lines.
I want to eat- to teach
your children what it means
when a mother desires more
than the right to her stovetop,
her kitchen table.
I’ll show them how to
patronize, to placate, to preserve
you are nothing,
nothing,
nothing
but a womb.
Placenta prepared
shimmering, grilled
served over a bed of white rice.
Content warnings for cannibalism, war, grotesque imagery, clinical language...(if I've missed some, I apologize, and if this needed to be in the title, I'll make sure I change it)
Extravagant Breakfast
I wonder if a burning womb shares
the smell of pork also.
Human flesh carries the same
scent as soldiers
bringing gingham-clad Freedom
folded into wicker-woven rifles.
No one wants it, though.
You see, it reeks
raised from a tin like gelatinous meat:
processed, preserved, perforated with a fork
then fried in sweet brine.
If I’m to have such an extravagant breakfast
how can I enjoy the taste of rot?
I’m hungry of course,
ravenous
for human meat.
I am your man,
made of mangles on gas lines.
I want to eat- to teach
your children what it means
when a mother desires more
than the right to her stovetop,
her kitchen table.
I’ll show them how to
patronize, to placate, to preserve
you are nothing,
nothing,
nothing
but a womb.
Placenta prepared
shimmering, grilled
served over a bed of white rice.