No Mercy in This - Feb 26 2024

 

No Mercy in This

Feb 26 2024

We are seated

around the festive table

impatient to eat.

Bow our heads,

hold hands,

join in giving thanks.

The table overflows

with salad greens,

soup tureens,

steaming platters of food.

Gravy boats

that would likely sink,

vintage wines

left to breathe,

and just baked bread

that could be a meal in itself.

A centrepiece

of freshly picked roses,

barbed stems

cut clean

as if by guillotine.

Broccoli stalks

lightly steamed

then drowned in hot butter.

Radishes

that bite you back,

and fresh snap beans.

Candied yams

and roasted rutabagas;

the sweet deception

of root vegetables

that will embarrass you with gas.

Spears of asparagus

all pointing up.

Potatoes served au gratin

smothered in cheese,

and chopped red cabbage

boiled to death.

Sweated onions

caramelized

over low even heat,

so agonizingly slow

you can almost hear the screams.

Tomatoes,

chopped, sliced, quartered.

Crisp carrots

brusquely beheaded,

then stripped of their skin.

And butternut squash

with all its guts scooped out,

much as a predator

eviscerates prey.

While for the meat-eaters

and lapsed vegetarians

there's brisket

chicken

lightly poached fish.

A whole turkey

cooked to perfection

but still too tough,

its flesh

tainted by stress

from the killing floor.

And rare roast beef

swimming in a pool

of animal blood,

glistening drops of fat

floating on top.

Still, you can't help

how your mouth waters

when the whole house smells of it.

All living things eat.

If not others

then plants

decaying matter

the light of the sun.

Even hibernators

in their deep dreamless torpor

consume themselves.

There is no mercy in this.

It's eat or be eaten

and thank the Lord.

Super long. Self-indulgent. Just hoping you, the reader. will go along for the ride.

Starts innocent. Digs itself deeper. Enough fun wordplay to, I hope, make it worth sticking with to the end.