for AM
These are the smoked streaky back bacon men,
flesh pressed against oily cellophane skin,
sausages cooked to burst. Extra lean meat,
joints of beef, sweat on a low oven's heat,
tendons tightening then softening tender
under the striplights. Sheep hearts and liver,
all of the offal that fills out the back
and thighs. Cured, hung for months in a smoke-stack
or salted on hooks in a meat cellar.
Some say the swelling is saline, water
injected under the rinds, ninety-six
percent nothing but oatmeal and sawdust.
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Showing posts with label bodybuilders. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bodybuilders. Show all posts
Tuesday, 25 September 2012
MUSCLE
Labels:
Angie Melluish,
bodybuilders,
bodybuilding,
food,
meat,
men,
muscle,
poem,
poetry,
rhyme
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