Cooking for the Infidel

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No need for air, for light,

just tilt your head backwards

and allow the past

to roll down your face.

Hold on to that.



Persephone shifted her weight

in time to the point

she was making.

She never stood erect-

she was always making a point.


Even with a potato peeler

there was an air

of menace-

she would mix it 

in with the mash.


Her threats had the promise

of unwanted mail.

Of brown envelopes.

The sort that fall when

any-news-is-not-good-news arrive.


She would direct the traffic

of your bumper-to-bumper

thoughts: your arguments ushered

down 'men-at-work' streets

your beliefs along unadopted alleys.


Her laugh when accompanied

with that gentle shake of head

was more contagian than contageous.

She was fond of staring at you-


through open doorways.



Then backwards glancing

her laugh would fill 

that empty space

and with our meeting

eyes adore my approach.


◄ Cooking for the Infidel

Dragging the luggage ►


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Katy Megan Hughes

Fri 14th Dec 2012 15:04

Love it. Can't say anymore than that. Katy

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