Slice of Life

dawdling away
from the minute signs,
the constant movement
hidden behind unfiltered
smoke of uncertainty,
uneven coating,
rugged edges
hard to chew
choking on burnt pieces,
it used to be appetizing—
the charred surfaces
now bitter,
watching it wasted like
skin clinging to the metal
now too lazy to clean up
walls that are over-stained,
thinking about it before
that unsettling bell rings

a trifle of confusion
distinct aroma pulling me back
as the knife slices
a morsel of goodness,
last to be picked,
left among the remnants
as one finds the truth
that not everything’s lost,
after thoroughly stirring
what would be the sauce
to match the best portion;
it keeps one living
with these insanities
of tenderness,
and well-done edges
rarer towards the center,
prime cut, indeed
oh, and that perfect core
still warm,
forget all the first bites
this will linger through time

nose awake
sniffing the burn
but the tongue remembers
the sweet aftertaste
and it’s worth the wait

Evelyn Dumag-Gabinete

This is the #potd poem of the day. Regularly visit the POTD page, as it gets updated regularly.
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