Meet Woman, Meat Woman,
why did you die?
Rotting on the ground made of tuna and rye!
salami goes hungry
underneath the sky;
you're a mountain of cold-cuts and fat.
Meet Woman, Meat Woman,
hidden underground--
flesh-golems hear the funeral sound!
Chanting out pater-noster,
pound for pound--
on the cracked walk you still lie flat!
The snake and the bike,
in the cage,
with the priest,
survived a riot at the funeral feast!
And the communards
all ply their trade as
Jack the Ripper drips the love he made.
Meat Woman, Meat Woman
flesh debased--
I'll wrap you in cellophane and let you taste--
The honey-drip nectar
of my subtle ways,
lunchmeat-mama
drives the carnivore craze.
The fish in the hole
is hollow and bare--
and the cook with the oil in his jet-black hair--
fingers the cavity
of the thing,
as the day rolls on, and the jailbirds swing.
Meat Woman, Meat Woman
it's quite clear:
your shelf-life is over and the end is near.
As the buildings burn,
and the cops give chase--
I drop a drab of mayonnaise on your cold-cut face!
About the Creator
Tom Baker
Author of Haunted Indianapolis, Indiana Ghost Folklore, Midwest Maniacs, Midwest UFOs and Beyond, Scary Urban Legends, 50 Famous Fables and Folk Tales, and Notorious Crimes of the Upper Midwest.: http://tombakerbooks.weebly.com
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