a poem a day for a year # 148

by Amy Turn Sharp


let me feed you some words
don't they taste
fresh
familiar
they were
your words
I am giving they back now
one by one
like a little snack
like a buffet for a bulimic
a meal for the remorseful
don't they taste like food from the street
stuck to the asphalt
grilled in the sun
enjoy
the dinner bell rings
a lovely woman shouts from a porch somewhere
far away
somewhere we can't remember
come and eat