To liver

To liver


O luscious leather, onion smothered
or pickled by fermented hops,
you're all the same to me.

Served with yellow buttered taters,
jaundiced from slow death by hep,
what matters, matters not to me.

As a child I thought
you were some dark-meat fish.
Now I've seen your disloyalty

to men who fish with bottles
trying to drown their sorrows.
Laughing when they see that you can't swim.

But alas, I'm not like them.
I eat liver with one eye watching
the color of my skin.


Kåre Enga

catalogue number: [162.548]
19 november 2005

I believe this form is called an ode.

For prompt 9! for

ID: 1013410   (Rated: 18+) Poets' Practice Pad  Write poetry from prompts just for the fun of it; formal or free verse, you pick. by Joy