It just sits there.
Mocking us to our faces,
lifting it's layered skirt, showing leg, wagging oven-baked figurative breasts
at Us.
This, last piece of Wedding Cake, all kinds of chocolate nanny-nanny-boo-boo
Bette Midler flirt and icing smile.
My fork quivers, resting on the shake plate.
I am all adrenaline build-up, bear trap twitch.
Staring at the necktie hyena across the table,
this guy actually thinks he can take this cake from me?
We smile, pasta-strained wet noodle aggression.
We laugh, because it's frowned upon to plastic dinette-set
butter knife-fight to the death at a relative's wedding.
So it sits there,
mocking us to our faces.
This last piece of heaven, we circle it.
Hungry territorial roar under our breath,
ready to Don King rumble for this-
We are interrupted,
Thunder Steps...
We stare in horror as the obese flesh toolshed woman,
made of chainsaw heavy breath and lawn mower rumble walk,
Fat Aunt Sarah rhino charging towards us.
Time is running out...
We lunge forward.
Fat-hand cobras biting for the cake knife,
our wrists become varsity linebackers blocking each other's end zones,
we antler-dance bucking for our prize.
My hand opens its jaws, chews his wrist, and alligator rolls it off the table.
He stifles a wolf-howl, and scurries away defeated.
I, now rooster cocky, turn to back to my lion-wrestle-won zebra leg,
But then I see it.
I puffer fish gasp to find it gone.
Crumb Aftermath in its wake.
Some empty plate wasteland.
In my mouth open turkey stare,
I spot my seven-year old second cousin,
icing-smeared smile in my grandfather's lap.
This...
this just takes the cake.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment