Meat Hook

I think I want to be a Butcher.

My hands reek of smoked meat
My clothes reek of smoked meat

Unrendered fat from hunks of bacon
Rendered my hands soft
While making
Thin, salty slices of heaven

Being a butcher is the perfect intersection
Of playing with big saws
And playing with your food

Even if most of my time was spent
Transforming deep red chunks
Of strategically cut meat
Into squishy pieces of glass
Glazed with vacuum pack bags

I think I want to be a Butcher.

Onno I apologize for all the meat talk, and also for continuing to write poems, I know you wanted us to branch out.