Shannon Austin
STEAMED HAMS, BUT IT’S A POEM
I hope you’re prepared for an unforgettable luncheon.
He leads him through a door, steps through another. Smoke & heat & the first thing he decides is
a lie. Spiral to spiral—grey unfurling through an open window, one leg poised. Another passage.
Two men stand halfway between two rooms, a theme song cutting through them: before & after
discovery.
He makes it back through an open window, through smoke curling skyward. Back through a
door, where smoke is steam & oysters are burgers & a lie is a regional dialect, concentrated in
the mouth. Easier than explanation.
One thing I should...excuse me for one second.
Particles from the sun slam into the earth the way fire outlines a door, its origins. The Aurora
Borealis is light unhinged. The way orange sees itself in yellow, follows it to red.
That is to say, silence is an answer. Denial in the hope of approval.
Well, that was wonderful. A good time was had by all. I’m pooped.
What he means is, we are all burning. The house is a metaphor. The roast will never be undone.
Will ash and see itself reincarnated: beef molded into mounds, straddled between cheese and
buns.
What he means is: I am myself undone, a body shaped by another’s hands.
And when he tells the other man he cannot see it, he means he never has.
He smiles as everything is engulfed. As a body screams in agony.
Unforgettable, he thinks. Forgetting what fire does.
As for us: We made it, despite my directions.As for us: We made it, despite my directions.
I hope you’re prepared for an unforgettable luncheon.
He leads him through a door, steps through another. Smoke & heat & the first thing he decides is
a lie. Spiral to spiral—grey unfurling through an open window, one leg poised. Another passage.
Two men stand halfway between two rooms, a theme song cutting through them: before & after
discovery.
He makes it back through an open window, through smoke curling skyward. Back through a
door, where smoke is steam & oysters are burgers & a lie is a regional dialect, concentrated in
the mouth. Easier than explanation.
One thing I should...excuse me for one second.
Particles from the sun slam into the earth the way fire outlines a door, its origins. The Aurora
Borealis is light unhinged. The way orange sees itself in yellow, follows it to red.
That is to say, silence is an answer. Denial in the hope of approval.
Well, that was wonderful. A good time was had by all. I’m pooped.
What he means is, we are all burning. The house is a metaphor. The roast will never be undone.
Will ash and see itself reincarnated: beef molded into mounds, straddled between cheese and
buns.
What he means is: I am myself undone, a body shaped by another’s hands.
And when he tells the other man he cannot see it, he means he never has.
He smiles as everything is engulfed. As a body screams in agony.
Unforgettable, he thinks. Forgetting what fire does.
As for us: We made it, despite my directions.As for us: We made it, despite my directions.