him like an onion
layer upon layer.  Women weep
the more in deep. They'll see
he's just a player. I'm gonna

fry him, coat him in the oil,
in rings like Saturn. Cut him up
in tiny pieces, in the soup
to boil. I'm gonna sauté' him

with a cherry hot red
pepper. He'll burn their tongues,
pretty and young, till they see he's
just a *****. Smother him in

the cassoulet. Make him sweat
another day. Mix him with sour cream
and chives, calling him a dip. He sits
as a lump on potato chips.