Suddenly, it stinks of coal burning.
They still burn it in homes here.
What derives from the atmosphere of an old coke town to our nostrils’ mounds.
The previous day spent, cutting meat and choking cheese.
Over eight hours, not a single slicing/chipping machine cleaned,
except by me, with a wet rag. Only later shown where the sanitizer station resides.
Dirty, but pure.
The roast beef rack, must be opened over a sink.
To let the blood drain.
For some, too red.
For others? Not enough.
Longhorn cheese and the ground up goat body of a head cheese.
Dirty, but desired. Harsh.
Everything, but the bones and put into a gelatinous mold.
A restauranteur calls me three weeks late.
I ask, “Do you make your pasta fresh?”
Gums cauterized and still bleeding.