Day 116 of the 365 day poem challenge.
Word of the day largesse "liberality in bestowing gifts".
Roast Lamb
I can smell Sunday
The sweat of potatoes sweet and salted
The honey scent of carrots in sparkling oil and
soft pumpkin hungry for my tongues caress
I see the dour sweaty faces
Around the table
Hands are pawing and trailing grease
The lamb itself innocuous and bland
Then it is wreathed in all of its finery and the table is spilling with plates and the largess of it all
Makes my belly ache
I watch the thick butcher knife
Slice open the lamb
The pink bloody flesh is inside
It calls to me
I feel the fibres of its beautiful
Death on my tongue
The flavours of salt and the blood wine in my throat
The cooling mint sauce refreshing with a hint of vinegar
The bloating continues
The potatoes grow cold
The peas roll off my plate
Onto the floor the gravy forces my t-shirt to bulge as I transform
Into a sloth
Laughter is drowned by food
Talking of wide grotesque lips
Drowned in wine and flesh and blood
My cracked lips stained blood red
With red red wine.
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