Meat by Alyssa Abell

You sit with a fork and knife,
when did this strange culture begin,
to eat the flesh of other men? Haute.
Who have we become, hell walkers.

We crave the taste of hatred and
bitter spite, cruel delicacies.
Eat up, they say, never satiated.
Salivating the cut into them.

Fate so dark, many end themselves,
knowing monsters crave to carve constantly.
Leaders turn their glance, see no evil.
The gluttonous feast rages on.

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Fork

BY CHARLES SIMIC

This strange thing must have crept   

Right out of hell.

It resembles a bird’s foot

Worn around the cannibal’s neck.

As you hold it in your hand,

As you stab with it into a piece of meat,

It is possible to imagine the rest of the bird:   

Its head which like your fist

Is large, bald, beakless, and blind.