Two Poems

Bolus

Word for all of it sent down there: worst meal,

best meal, most memorable barley and mushrooms,
the lemon’s bite that
bites, any old slop made with love or indifference,
savored or rushed, rain pelting
window, kitchen in need of a good scrub, veering
toward toxic, finally the same
same ever-ending
you-know-what. Not a subject
for this pool of thought.
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