by Virginia Watts

Poem published by Eclectica Magazine

The hilarious part is how we think
they are exotic, suitable for a silver tray
to be served at an adult cocktail party
skewered on toothpicks
arranged with edible flowers
pinky-sized hors-d’oeuvres from a can
slimy, slathered in sweet tomato sauce
perhaps a traditional recipe from Austria
a place that sounds like a storybook
where people waltz on hillocks
and falling snow waltzes with them
to music, music box music, a tinkling

My cousin and I discover the sausages
in the far back of a kitchen cabinet
my aunt’s secret pleasure, something she eats
when she isn’t starving herself
which was most of the time and as girls
we know better, know she lives hungry
know we shouldn’t steal pleasure from her lips
given how my uncle oohs and awes
over any woman built like a string bean
Now that’s what I’m talking ’bout!
but there is a car in the driveway
and keys on the counter
and we are still young enough
to believe in escape

Copyright © 2024 Virginia Watts. All rights reserved.