Eyes fixated on an imaginary point ahead, the host moved on.
Thought about her guests.
How to prepare for their visit.
She couldn’t even look him in the eye.
Couldn’t see the juice, the tears, the potential
In the fat around her waist.
Perhaps with some added spice.
She was oozing with it.
Full of it.
Full of herself.
Not keen on the beef, thanks.
It’s too wet for a barbecue today.
Haven’t got time to roast them.
Not in my oven.
The kitchen’s being decorated, you see.
Waiting for the new tiles.
Bit of a mess.
Observed the steel tray.
The tin foil lining.
The bones, with dark bloodied centres.
Meat burnt to a crisp.
And helped herself to a slice.
Trying not to think about.
The ribs being prised apart.
There didn’t need to be any waste.
The dogs would chew on the bones.
Nothing would be left.
Walked on past.
Was this life?
From a single leftover rib?
Better to devour.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool
Source: The ‘ribs’ photograph is a creative commons image from Pixabay