Steak
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No one loves you like I do.
In fact, I’ve several nicknames for you—
Beef chunk ambrosia
Coronary delight
Salty, buttered rump of heaven.
All of these and more.
It’s like I said—
No one loves you like I do.
When I first met you
as a young lad
I didn’t fully understand you.
Why would they leave your bone in?
Why are you a little burned on the outside,
and a little undercooked in your fleshy center?
Also…
Why would they give a six-year old
a Ginsu knife?
You tasted as if a live cow
had strutted up to me
and begged me to eat it.
Which I did.
Some people cook you better than others—
That restaurant I used to haunt
That annoying guy with the green, egg-like grill
whose house I visit for only the one reason.
My grandpa,
the one time he did it right.
But none of them revere you
like I do.
A dash of salt.
A blob of butter.
White charcoals, hotter than Chernobyl.
It’s pretty much a religious experience,
right?
You should’ve seen my face
when I ate your cousin the other day.
Most midlife crises
begin with flashy cars
and a new therapist.
But he and I,
we sat alone in the dark,
and I made stupid faces,
while he just
raised my cholesterol.
It’s fine.
I’d die for him.
And for you.
I mean, it’s probably too late already,
given the number of Angus I’ve sacrificed
to my sacred fork.
I think the neighbor hates me.
He stands on his deck, watching me worship you
as if you were some woman he coveted,
some woman I just grilled
over a five-hundred degree flame.
Whatever.
He lurked a while, gazing at me
like a starved wolf, who is also balding.
That’s weird.
I hope he was looking at you, not me.
When I’m alone, which is almost always,
I daydream of you.
You don’t talk much.
You just sizzle seductively.
Is that even a thing?
When we embrace, every vegan
in a ten-mile radius
dies.
It’s a shame, really.
I’m sure they were good people.
But nothing like you, my friend.
You, who loves me in a way
which makes me embrace arterial hardening
like a hug from an old friend
who just happens to be delicious.
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See more (not nearly as ridiculous) words here.
J Edward Neill