With Mustard by Caroline Wilson

That’ s how he liked it, a nibble or two,
here and there. The heart is pure, electric
as a shot of vodka. Green blood nestled
in burning arms. Hack, hack, hack. Bit by bit.
He loved people so much. I’ll eat you up,
I love you so. Tastes like chocolate, just as
brown. Gourmet. Crunch crunch. Sets the table
himself: breakfast, dinner, and some for lunch.
But father balloons on the TV screen,
tells Larry King he wanted AIDs instead,
anything but the pile of men, dead
in a sterile Milwaukee apartment.
Not capable of creation, Jeff eats.
Shame tastes sweet. Like pork, like pork. Mustard. Meat.

Caroline Wilson is a poet from Western North Carolina. She holds a BA in Women, Gender, and Sexuality studies and Poetry from the University of North Carolina at Asheville. Her work has been published in Headwaters Journal, Metabolism, The Pedestal Magazine, and Spitjaw Review. She lives in Asheville and co-curates the quarterly Juniper Bends Reading Series.

Caroline Wilson is a poet from Western North Carolina. She holds a BA in Women, Gender, and Sexuality studies and Poetry from the University of North Carolina at Asheville. Her work has been published in Headwaters Journal, Metabolism, The Pedestal Magazine, and Spitjaw Review. She lives in Asheville and co-curates the quarterly Juniper Bends Reading Series.

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