Cooked Wet

Each Spring day wept by,
Each rain in May,
though washed down drains,
stayed warm through grey.

Wet plops dropped to
land on seared meat, splash!
Each piece of beef sang
with grill-grease. We gnashed

and dripped in soaked
clothes. We sniffed charred air,
watched flame snatch juice from fresh-
cut flesh cooked quick, hot, and rare.

• food
• poetry
• practice exercise