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Nigdaw Mar 26
the time has come
when walking home
with two loaves of bread
and a pack of gammon rashers
makes you really feel
like you're bringing home
the bacon
I have seen sights
that are from the movies
I am Legend comes to mind
the whole world become
greedy grasping zombies
out for their own personal gain
we have turned our backs
on community compassion
left with a void
once filled with toilet roll
and pasta
queues outside supermarkets
marshalled by police
people stockpiling petrol
***
we're supposed to be on lock down
where the hell are you going
the old and vulnerable
pushed to the kerb of life
thrown from the safety of a pavement
now reserved for the big enough
to elbow everyone else
out of the way
but today I have bacon
and bread
today I can have a sandwich
Salat Days
by Michael R. Burch

dedicated to the memory of my grandfather, Paul Ray Burch, Sr.

I remember how my grandfather used to pick poke salat ...
though first, usually, he’d stretch back in the front porch swing,
dangling his long thin legs, watching the sweat bees drone,
talking about poke salat—
how easy it was to find if you knew where to look for it ...
standing in dew-damp clumps by the side of a road, shockingly green,
straddling fence posts, overflowing small ditches,
crowding out the less-hardy nettles.

“Nobody knows that it’s there, lad, or that it’s fit tuh eat
with some bacon drippin’s or lard.”

“Don’t eat the berries. You see—the berry’s no good.
And you’d hav’ta wash the leaves a good long time.”

“I’d boil it twice, less’n I wus in a hurry.
Lawd, it’s tough to eat, chile, if you boil it jest wonst.”

He seldom was hurried; I can see him still ...
silently mowing his yard at eighty-eight,
stooped, but with a tall man’s angular gray grace.

Sometimes he’d pause to watch me running across the yard,
trampling his beans,
dislodging the shoots of his tomato plants.

He never grew flowers; I never laughed at his jokes about The Depression.

Years later I found the proper name—“pokeweed”—while perusing a dictionary.
Surprised, I asked why anyone would eat a ****.
I still can hear his laconic reply ...

“Well, chile, s’m’times them times wus hard.”

Published by Lonzie’s Fried Chicken, Grassroots Poetry, Poet’s Forum Magazine, Harp-Strings Poetry Journal, A Flasher’s Dozen (prose version), Poetry Life & Times, Centrifugal Eye, Better Than Starbucks. Keywords/Tags: Great Depression, South, pokeweed, poke salad, bacon, lard, front porch swing, sweat bees, nettles, weeds, beans
Laokos Jun 2019
knock, knock, knock*

I open my door
and am immediately
greeted by
three 19 year old elders.

They want to talk to me
about Jesus and
their version of
a sacred text and I want
to talk to them about: God,
Philosophy, Religion,
Art, Music, etc.

but I just put a greasy
pan on med-high
heat to cook some
bacon and it's
filling my apartment
with smoke.

Yet, my curiosity of
these creatures at
my door temporarily
supersedes kitchen
safety protocols,
so I start to oblige
them and even
entertain some light
discourse in the
hallway.

I begin to explain my
perspective when
my attention skips back
to the pan
and the hot metal
smell tickling my nose.

-protocols back in place-
I decline their invitation
to visit their temple, now
or any time in the
future, then shake
their hands.

I accept a pamphlet
from the last one,
"The Plan of Salvation",
after he scribbles a
phone number on
the back.

I wish them luck
and close my door
without locking it,
stride over to the skillet
and take it off
the burner.

Good thing I removed
the batteries from
all the smoke
detectors.
Iz Oct 2018
I just spent the last 30 minuets crying into my boyfriends chest
In the middle of my tear fest I choked out
“can we get Wendy’s?”
I’m a ***** for a good emotional binge
Julie Grenness Jan 2017
Bacon! Bacon! Bacon!
Time to get the breakfast on!
Little Johnny likes to cook,
No, he is no wussy sook,
He is cooking in his apron,
Yes, thirty pieces of bacon!
Johnny decides this is bliss,
As he gives his empty plate a kiss,
But Johnny now has cholesterol, you see,
That was yum, time for tea,
Now he's eating thirty chocolates, prithee,
All gone, Johnny has cholesterol and diabetes!!!!!!
Yes, Little Johnny is heading for obesity!!!!!!
Feedback welcome.
Liam C Calhoun Oct 2016
Tomorrow’s sausage rolled along the road
And just beyond my hasty, tasty want for a drink.

Amidst giggle and sigh, my cohorts,
my companions and others
Muddle the horror, or meal at ends, most likely

Come this little pigs jump from the truck
Leading butcher.

In silence, I admire the –

Entrails on the highway;  jump opposed shank,
Surpassing my seventh mile for a
Seventh heaven,
Leaving me simply seconds prior Shenzhen.

Sure, little piggy’d never made it,
To the market, to the feast of it all,
But he’d met his end, and on his own terms.

He’d met his end and frolicked upon the
Fields lacking pans and bacon grease,
In opposition the role, the role we force, enforce
And devour time and again;

In silence, I admired the escape.
*Note - Moments on the highway to Shenzhen.
Pauline Morris Feb 2016
There once was a girl who loved bacon
The smell of it would start her hands to shaking
It's hard to define
She loved it divine
I once saw her chasing a swine
With fork and knife in hand
She was determined to eat that ham
But it ran to **** fast
I watched as it past
With her giving chase
To her it was just bacon with a face
She wanted that meal
Despite the pigs squeal
That poor pigs plight
Was a sad sorry sight
It was hard to imagine
What next happened
It turned and ate her instead
Now that ***** is dead

                  The End!
Nigel Finn Jan 2016
Sometimes I meet,
With art so sweet,
It almost turns me vegan,
A piece of meat,
Could not compete,
With a painting done by Tegan.

Sometimes it seems,
She paints my dreams,
Or as close as anyone can,
If I had to choose,
Between this or *****,
I'd be a sober man.

I'd feel such grief,
With no relief,
If she chose to give up paintin'
And I'd fill the hole,
Inside my soul,
With whiskey and with bacon.
A wonderful friend of mine, who's also an amazing artist, sent me an amazing painting she created of a purple griffin-winged, ram-horned dragon befriending a mouse. Mice are OK, but I really, REALLY love dragons (don't give me that look - dragons are cool, OK?) and her artwork is truly exceptional.

I'd forgot that I'd even written this until recently when I stumbled back across an old video I made as she was many, many miles away at the time, and I wanted her to know how excited I was about it. I still am quite excited about it to be honest - it's a freakin' DRAGON!!!
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