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Postmodern Village
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That might require surgery. Or IHOP.
by Hezekiah Allen Taylor

he dissects the pancake stack
with a steak knife
laying open the fluffy off-beige center
to trace the innards with his gaze

it reminds him of sex
but then again, everything reminds him of sex

the softness of the bread-like stomach
taking on the aura of a woman's thighs
even the scent of syrup reminiscent

the crunching of bacon
brought on flashbacks
the placement of the fried eggs
looking like breasts

he simply could not escape it

he tried mixing the yolk into white
with his fork, scooping the entire mixture
up with his toast to shovel it all
into his mouth with little breath

he tried nodding in time to the comments
that were flying around him
he agreed that she just wasn't right for him
he confirmed that she simply couldn't compete
with what he wasn't quite sure about

it was the sausage that was
his ultimate undoing
it was the sausage that ended
the three-week breakup as quickly
as a scapel opening soft underbelly--a deflowering

Francine's Version -- Hezekiah's Version -- Inspiration
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