Dragging benches to tables,

gorgeous, potent, bleak children,

eyes round as white plates,

hastily scoff small party food,

one shrunken burger, cold beans one spoon,

can’t refuse,

knowing every mouthful,

is a debt.

Climbing up benches, along tables,

the gorgeous, pendulous, spent woman,

eyes dark and deep as wounds,

crawls with slow, seductive gait,

beans dripping from her flank,

can’t refuse,

knowing every step,

is to death.

​