Ode to Bacon
My blood sings, as it passes through my veins,Of empty mitochondria and lack
Of care and comfort, so vicious it pains
The delicate homeostatic plaque
Decorating arteries' finest walls
And hunger wails its divine truthful course
Thundering, train-like, from stomach to brow
Descending again, fast as water falls.
Granulated hiccoughs, coarse,
Excruciating rumbles, announce how
Desperate a hunt is required through malls.
'Feed me! Oh Mistress, take pity, I pray!'
What food can satisfy such pitiful
Demand? Salty desire a dancing sway,
Phantom smokiness, tantalising full-
Tongued and satisfyingly delicious.
Meaty and pink-blushed, I follow the call
To the butcher's counter. Whereupon my
Eye discerns wonderful, meretricious,
The apple of lovers, all
Fatty and glistening, passive and - sigh -
Willing. Bacon, my intent's malicious.
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