Meat

Meat

You ask for your steak raw,
pink and bloodied, ‘almost alive.’
Your cheeks flush with alcohol
and candle light while you watch
the waitress saunter away.

Your eyes follow her pert arse,
pour your gaze like sauce
into her blouse, as she bends
to bring your food you lick
dry lips with a fat red tongue.

Meat congeals in your mouth
like wet cement. It spills out
from your gums like dog food,
drips hot yellow grease
down your chin as you chew.

I watch you swig from your glass,
red wine sloshing like blood,
chasing the food down your gullet
and sitting snug in your stomach,
churning there as your mouth
opens wide as a cave.

You pull gristle from between
your teeth, pick strings
of browned flesh from your hot,
wet mouth and stare after
the waitress again, rubbing
your swollen belly – –
‘Can’t beat a good rump.’