Porkchops
Waiting in the living room
laid across the leather couch.
I could smell the flour from the kitchen.
Infused with garlic powder, pepper, old bay
the right amount of paprika.
Watching her coat them, gentle like
baby powder during a changing.
The grease sizzles like tap dancers across
marble floors.
Watch the delicate flip, she’s rougher
when she rubs my nose.
Sounds then become single
Raindrops hitting a metal roof.
The meat rises to the top of the pan
They are cooked.