Veal
by Phyllis JanowitzI love to watch the butcher
wipe the sharp
blade on his
apron stained
with fresh blood. I’m
going to marry him
WHAM
the side of beef split open
he tenderly spreads
it like a woman’s legs
between smeared fingers
stroking the cold smoothness
from his fingertips
bloody red
drops on the floor spotting
the sawdust there fluffs of fat
lie covered decently
the meat is red and lean.
He is huge with the scissors
and knives of love and I so
refined so
shrinking violet am in love
in love and bite
the inside of my mouth
to taste the hot spurts
of blood
swallowing
the sudden salt
WHAM
the chopper right
through the
bone
the knife
cleaving clean
any thickness
desired
as beautiful as birth
as normal
as bloody.
Again he wipes the knife
on his apron
thin thin slices scooped
with swollen hands onto pieces of
white paper
weighs them
no fat no fat
Arms thick as a roast
he lets my mother
keep the bills
for a year
like love letters
on a spike in the kitchen.
Copyright © Phyllis Janowitz
