Owen Lubozynski
She lies. She lines her lips.
She rips into the etiquette
of a bougie brunch
with comments in turn
mordant, incisive, sanguine,
sanguinary,
bites off the matter with a smile
but eyes the remnants
on the others’ plates.
Her palate is precise but not
discriminating.
She’ll try anything once.
Though you may be outré,
you’ll be no more than
an hors d’ouvre to her,
even as you protest that you
deserve to be savored,
heave yourself like an offering
across her threshold.
She will not open her arms
to you, but she may
unhinge her jaw.
Like some creeping things
that thrived before Adam,
she has been known to spit
on her prey,
that the acid of her discernment
may tenderize her meal
before it touches her tongue.
***
Owen Lubozynski is a freelance writer and editor living in the Twin Cities. Copy is her bread and butter; poetry is her jam.