The steak was seasoned with
dragged-through-the-pasture seasoning
and beat like a dead rug
in a curbside FREE bin
I sailed it away and sent it back,
opted for the twenty-six dollar salad, instead.
As I got my new fix,
my shaky espresso hands
sprinkled egg bits and light parmesan,
and called it a truce with the cook,
as any good poet
should?
dragged-through-the-pasture seasoning
and beat like a dead rug
in a curbside FREE bin
I sailed it away and sent it back,
opted for the twenty-six dollar salad, instead.
As I got my new fix,
my shaky espresso hands
sprinkled egg bits and light parmesan,
and called it a truce with the cook,
as any good poet
should?
Alyssa Trivett is a wandering soul from the Midwest. When not working two jobs, she chirps down coffee while scrawling lines. Her work has appeared in many places, but most recently at Ex Ex Lit, and Duane's PoeTree site.
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