Poem: “Some Poems”

Some Poems

Some poems are custard,

simple, slipping

down the throat.

Some are a sip of strong tea,

a swallow of rum.

Some are hard bone

to scrape the teeth against,

marrow you can scent but never

break to taste.

Some are gristle and fat,

sit uneasy, questioning.

Some are delicate meals

served in a single bite.

Some look good — a spray

of garnish, a drizzle of sauce —

but taste like air.

Some are stones

to suck on, just to wet

the mouth.

Some are stones to swallow.