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Meat Pump
by David HillDelicate, personified,
smooth inverted droplet,
cinnamon sugar coated,
childishly rendered.
This is not the human heart.
It is a thing,
a gristle delta
of hidden chambers,
twisting channels
to darkened places.
You, lover,
you once held mine in your grip,
bruise and bubble between fingertips,
and I,
I returned that kindness.
Alas, you found it tiresome,
the constant knead,
so you hurled it hard
against drywall.
It slow slid, slim slime trail,
landed a twitcher
on the cool concrete floor.
I buried your beater
out back of the shed.
Soil clung to its moistness.
I split it with the spade,
then covered everything over.
11/10/2009 Author's Note: I dare say I really put my heart into this one. (Please shoot me)
Posted on 11/11/2009
Copyright © 2026 David Hill
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Glenn Currier on 11/11/09 at 03:18 AM You put it right out there for us to see and feel. The pain and honesty in this astounds me. The images of the bruised meat pump are striking and effective. I get the message loud and clear. May your heart heal sooner rather than later. Thanks. |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 11/11/09 at 05:21 PM "a gristle delta
of hidden chambers," I really liked this line, as well as loved "I split it with the spade"!
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| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 11/11/09 at 08:21 PM ...david i laugh uncontrollably so if i anger you, it is something i can't control, man i so love the disparity of thingy-ness, a delightful raw approach to someone's psyche...i keep grinning, wished i'd thought of this package...exteme-0 cool-0. |
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