I’m not close enough to your bones
to even notice if there’s meat
to pick off them.
You’re not my kind of dish anyway.
I like the sweet,
the salty, the creamy.
I love to savor and enjoy.
I don’t get near the tough cuts,
and I run so fast
from anything that smells rotten now,
that I’m never close to those kinds of bones
for long enough to notice what’s there.
So if there’s meat being picked off your bones,
perhaps someone a little closer to home
should be suspect.
May I offer you a mirror?
And then, as I was saying,
I must run.
~ cj 2014.03.21