i slip out of bed
tiptoe to the kitchen
through
midnight house darkness
meatloaf
awaits me
in the fridge
in its own congealed juices
it needs companions
brown bread
mayo and salt
eaten cold
eaten silently
eaten quickly
it settles happily
in the gut
but in that house void of lights
except for charging phones
the loaf delivers
hours of indigestion and
nightmares on chipped, bleeding hooves
until breakfast
——
Words and Feathers 