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​She was one poor
piece of meat,
tough and fatty,
barely good enough
for my sausage.
Then I rubbed her down,
gave her a little flavor,
some spicy and some sweet.
Slowly I kept her warm
for a long time.
Until the coals died down
and the smoke cleared.
After that she was the 
juiciest of the bunch,
as succulent as a mango.
I smacked my lips,
licked every one of my
fingertips.
Still she dripped down
my chin, left a stain
I’ll never get out.
But I have no regrets.

M. Zane McClellan

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