Monday, October 4, 2010


21. a poem that involves cutting,
chopping or dividing something

The Meat Pie

This one should be hot
she says, wrestling with the foil
tray where the crust is a ridge
of sedimentary rock, yellow
and bumpy. I worry about
the knife slipping and take over.
Placing a beautiful quarter
on her plate I'm told I always
do the wrong thing; she can't
possibly eat such a large piece.
I stay calm, fly the quarter
across two plates to land
safely on my daughter's.
Take a quarter for myself, cut
the cook a wee slice. After dinner
I hear her offer the remains 
for lunch at uni, saves money
and having to eat something 
even soggier, of dubious value.
I'm the first to cut a piece
bring it to my mouth, savour
the flavour, pronounce it tepid.
It heated up properly when
you were away, she says,
and I pretend to consider
the possibility our oven might 
also be becoming irrational

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