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Hemingwayesque Eating

I feel like a portly and bearded 
Hemingway 
in a bulky fisherman's sweater 
after a bullfight when 
I ingest barbecued pork.

A bona fide man 
clutches the ribs 
with his creased 
and hard-working hands,
sinks his incisors deep
into the roasted flesh,
and with a quick 
forty-five degree 
snap of his head,
shreds the dead 
animal’s brawn
from its bone.

And like the full-bellied lion 
who rests in the verdant shade 
with gazelle blood 
dripping from his lips,
the man leans back in his chair,
rub his enlarged stomach,
while not realizing 
that he’s wearing 
a moustache of 
barbecue sauce.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2005




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Book: Reflection on the Important Things