Night-time Lard
Dear Lard, square white of melting delight,
Ignored sister of whorish butter,
I spread you on my frying pan at night.
Your naughty sizzle, your cheeky splutter.
Know I sizzle too, my Lard, for in the gloom,
I know you’re melting for others’ sake.
The childish bacon, sausage and mushroom,
How I envy their swimming in your wake,
You hold them fully and you make them whole.
Your love is not exclusive, yes, I know,
For I mouthed you once raw in a bowl.
And soon threw you up in the sink, although
I was both sick with love and sick with lard
And my breakfast heart’s forever scarred.
9 comments:
you are a lard bard. well done.
thanks, cara.
You tried hard, lard bard. I wept.
A for effort? C for attainment? Thanks, Hancock.
Cute!
A lard bard, indeed. Definitely made me weep, with laughter. Thanks for that great start to my Friday! Keep it coming!
thanks, guys!
You had me at "Ignored sister of whorish butter."
Now I'm jonesin' for some hotcakes cooked in bacon fat. You alliterative bastard. ;)
A lad in love with lard. Who can resister? Certainly not moi.
New follower here. Not a brat, or bratess, as the WV suggests. Merely another writer struggling to put words in a row, though I may never attain your poetic greatness. Writing in Flow
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