Friday 30 November 2012

#83 - Fidel's Casserole

The old soldier stands above his pot,

Turkey, paprika, sweet peppers,
double cream; a rich, thick pink.
Pig's feet, a bay
leaf; heat.
                He strums his beard,

remembering the poisoned chocolate milkshake,
the sudden piquancy against his tongue,
incredible sweetness.

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