overcooked

Pressure cooker

A ding of a bell as the steam rises

Overcooked meet; sloppy

Dropped to the floor

Its sauce is salty

Like it's scared

And has feelings inside keeping it alive.

Hating that distance

From the kitchen table

Where the rest of the stew bubbles away;

Together with the vegetables

And bay leaves; there's flavour created

While the overcooked pieces collide with the smashed shards

Of plate and glass

Utensils, gravity summons

They splinter the air with ferocity

Spearing the dreams of the slice

That will never be noticed again.

Canine senses,

Those cravings satiated;

Suffering comes to those who are vulnerable

And can do nothing to save themselves

But cry and hope someone realises

That the mess they made is representative

Of deeper hollowness

Undeniable urges to throw table settings at chandeliers

Soak the tablecloth with blackberry juice

And use any leftover boiled water

To prove the point of black smoke

Choking lungs

And smothering the rubbery taste

Of overcooked meat.