The table groans under the piles and piles
of grub that we’ve slaved to kill, pluck and
garnish. We dribble with anticipation and
laugh as we chew; the rancid joy of lucid
mastication. Liquid tumbles from jaws that
berate and churn, almost angry at the lack
of posed resistance. Wash it down and feel
the vulgar mulch vanish into your taught
soul. Now we can celebrate! With drunken
arms aloft and soiled attire at our gluttony
we join hands and sing as we sway. We are
sated, for now, until the next bout of
surfeit hunger knocks brazen at our door.