Everyday Majestic Musings

At seamarket there is a stall
I visit every time.
The woman sells this jerkied pork
with garlic, pepper, fish, and lime.

The listed price is 35
per pound of belly meat
that has been sliced, seasoned, and fried,
and dried into a crispy treat.

She reaches in a hulking bin
and scoops onto a scale
a mound of meaty mortal sin,
and then her son completes the sale.

I like to keep it icy cold
to add some extra crunch
that amplifies the joy tenfold
and turns it from a snack to lunch.

Little golden naked man,
reaching out his empty hand,
palm turned up, looks like he's begging
for a pair of winter leggings.

Details make him appear frigid:
penis shrunken, nipples rigid,
arms are stiffened, legs are too.
Probably his skin's gone blue.

Won't you save him from distress,
keep him from frost's chill caress,
undo/redress cold undress?
God bless, I guess.

I'm sitting at a cafe with a book
from a friend I don't want to stop thinking about,
a friend with whom I'd love to laugh and cook
but currently I'm trying to spend time without.

I'm worried somewhat about the connection
between bouts of loneliness and how much time we'd spend
engaging in our happy intersection
and my discontentment when our conversations end.

And so I'm taking time out of my day
to sit and read this book outside my neighborhood cafe
and enjoy it for its own sake not because it came from them
so we can go back, hopefully, to being close again.

Maybe this is asinine. Don't know.
My sign it's time to disentwine and grow.
Assign divine design, recline, let go.
That vulpine smile though. (don't be crass)