PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

This particular model has been advertised for its

enormous storage space; and, believe it or not, the

commercials---audio, video, and various print media---

have not exagerated at all.  Of course, you already

know that the interior light does go out after the

door has been shut and secured, for what possible

condition would require illumination in there?

Jars contain condiments---catsup, mustard, mayonnaise;

along with pickle chips, and those exotic pearl onions

(remember Ariel's song, Those are pearls that were his eyes;

you read that in class just the other day).  An assortment of

plastic containers, obtained on sale from one of the

large box stores, contain chicken legs and wings, meat

still on the bone the old fashioned way.  A couple of

flank steaks, also, are ready to be cooked up rare,

just the way he likes them.  But the centerpiece of the

shelf must surely be this enormous head of lettuce,

right in the center that is not so easily shared.

Some jars have been---just recently---filled with you:

your blood and bile; and, in a very small ampule,

your sweetness (released in the usual sevenfold surge

before you began to realize what was really coming).

Your fingers and toes, carefully wrapped in plenty of foil,

still retain meat on the bone; along with some cuts from

your flanks---all of these still moist in the ooze of blood.

One tall slender jar contains your eyes like precious pearls,

along with other eyes---whose is not quite clear.  Quite an

effort brought your severed head in there, as well; and to

your mounting horror (as if being carved up was not enough of a

shock), you are somehow still aware of every piece of you

that writhes in pain like a scream unbearably silenced,

unbearably drawn from every agonizing neuron, and consigned to

silence.

Those are pearls that were his eyes.

Nothing of him that doth fade

But doth suffer . . .

You have not been the only one invited, enticed, and seduced.

Hark, now I hear them:  ding dong bell.

But doth suffer . . .

Starward