No Bone Picking

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

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4 Responses to No Bone Picking

  1. Steven says:

    What an interesting poem CJ. Very interesting.

    • cjromb says:

      Thank you a big huge mountainous bunch for always reading the stuff I write and commenting. 🙂

  2. Morine says:

    OMG, this is superb.

    • cjromb says:

      Haha! I LOVE that you like it! I wrote it super fast almost as a comment on a situation, and then I hauled butt out to see a sunset. I actually didn’t even realize I’d hit the publish button til another friend emailed me about it. huh!? Oh my! I published it!

      I’m still not sure how I feel about it, but I really love that you like it! 🙂

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