Trimming the Fat

The butcher says
he is just trimming the fat
going for the lean
He sharpens his knife
cuts off gristle and bone

Some pieces of meat
will never make the grade
They become dog food
the equivalent of horse meat
easily traded

We get so hungry
our cells crying for a piece of fat
some energy to burn
Secret societies form
where people huddle
whisper, the slick stuff
running down their jowls

Meanwhile, the butchers stay busy
flaying words from the page
bytes from the baud
making the meat respectable
and safe
cut into the clean flesh
of what's been wrought

Given a choice, I would sear
my steak
on a high flame
watch the molecules dance
to inform and infect
other air

I'd watch the butchers
try to breathe

Jennifer Ley

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