He ordered <br />A rare steak for her anyway. <br />She plays with her steakknife and fork, <br />Then crushes the croutons <br />In her salad to break up the silence <br />As they await their steaks. <br /> <br />After the steaks have arrived <br />Her eyes never rise from the meat <br />To meet his eyes. <br /> <br />Anticipating the blood <br />She gingerly stabs the meat <br />And slowly cuts it. <br />She pokes at the slices <br />And senses his <br />Coal black eyes burning to see <br />The pink meat touch her lips. <br /> <br />She feels the breeze <br />From the motion of his arm <br />As he reaches for the slice of bread <br />He'll use to soak up the bloody juice. <br /> <br />As she twirls her steakknife <br />It catches the dim light <br />And she twists inside <br />Dying to take it and scrape all trace of him <br /> <br />From her marrow.<br /><br />Francis Santaquilani<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dinner-with-the-daddy/
