Drown out the prone mumbling of the bloated boy
with the bursting eyes and the barely breath.
Chianti pairs better than Claret with poultry I find.
Mocked by his bowels at his closing
far passed the cares of indignity.
More turkey or beef?
A girl’s razored throat cuts into her time left
-quite young in dog years-
preventing her from gorging the air.
Leave room for pudding!
Tobacco-leaf dried skin marks them as waiting to depart
with voices stilled.
Yet every year I hear them as I feast.
I generally rise from the table and tape their mouths firmly shut.
Anyone for champagne?