Tower sides, thousand eyes, sharp teeth.
The bite of stainless steel, grating
a block of fake cheddar on the counter
soya snowflakes raining down
onto the spaghetti, gnawing the block
into oblivion, the oven hums in the background

Then beyond, bracing
as metal grinds against skin
though numb to the feeling,
peeling peach particles like knife
through butter, too easy,
blood in the Bolognese
darkening the sauce and staining
the checked countertop crimson,
splashes of condiment stirred in,
the chalkboard sound of fangs
against bones filed down to dust
clenched teeth, the smell of mincemeat
severed nerve endings, steam
and the heat of the kitchen
as housemates smoke in the garden,
as the arm is eaten away
inch by bloody inch, until the food
has cooled and the first
drops of blood are drying
on the porcelain floor tiles,
the oven roaring in protest.

Chichester, June 2017


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