Slicing rare beef, she hears chatter from the cooking show
her husband watches daily,
We’re in Budapest, Bourdain says, Let there be blood!
Let it be in this form, let the blood squirt
across your plate when you press it
with your fork Her husband
from Poland, eats pork, and she, not kosher
eats it too, at Christmas with cloves.
He’s never got used to being un-native
And they joke about God
his, hers, they talk Jesus, they talk liver,
talk chicken fat vs. butter.
Not to stray from the beast
they love best: he who meows keenly
at the door, this buttery boy is who she would be
if she were four-legged.
Siamese dancer, seal-point so cuddled –
Do you know how they look: Black nose,
four black paws, black tail, black, apple-heart shaped face,
snowy chest and body, blue eyes crossed,
peering, peering into your eyes come morning.
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