by Don Two
Sweet sounds of food consumption.
Okay, as a dieter I must say I am none too keen
on the lip-smacking, tongue-clucking sounds of eating,
those manner-voided, teeth-gritting audio atrocities produced
by enforcers of rude, the din of dinners schemed by open-mouthed
troglodytes who wear food as well as, if not better than, they consume it.
It is a symphony of saliva sass, a morphing of molar clack and fat-lipped
slurp wherein silence widens her eyes in a profound shiver of shock.
She leaves in a pique--I don’t blame her. The munch, the gulp,
the recurring resonation of tramp and drool unbefitting of
human beings with a dram of dignity. Table manners
ala the caves of Neanderthals and howler monkeys.
Gormandize gone mad, this audition of feed
mixed with uncouth sound, wherein we
who resist good grub suffer.
This suffering is bad enough due to aromas which entice, lure
and titillate. Add to that, though, those masticating smacks,
those snaps of whip-like tongues from incisors to the roof
of mouth, and then the dieting discomfort climbs a ladder
and dangles, holding on with one arm. Thus I swallow,
apologetically, to taste buds, and I gulp in unfeigned
sorrow for the journeyman of acid-reflux, for the
simple reflex of Adam’s apple.
Belly up to the buffet all ye who plunder
civil conduct, all those who munch and gnaw
and crunch to the staccato of hobo drums. Crunch
with zest and, with open maws, spoon those man-made
indiscretions of burger tones and snippets of syllables dipped
in grease and gristle onto the tables of humanity.
We shall do our best to survive it, and
we will build our constitutions.
Writer’s Cramp Winner