Smeared dark jelly on twisted, toasted bones
Lain in the dirt to bleach. Had to dispose of them
Somehow, so with closet full I set out into wilds
I’d forgotten we’re so much fun in my youth.
Why the jelly, one might ask, don’t the dogs eat
Even without extra-seasoning? True, they do.
Yet, what if I wanted them saved for a different
Cunsumation? I did, so the dark jelly, canine’s hate.
Made it up out of the fat on meat carved off
Stories I tired of telling. Rolled it in spent coffee
Beans, needed it more bitter than a bite could take.
So when the gelatin bubbled free from the fibers,
Distillation began. Nothing to stew remained.
So here we are old bones, here we are,
Lain in the dirt to bleach, too bitter for dogs,
Maybe, before day, the moon will eat the dark.
Image: Stephen Fuller
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