|January 2001 / Volume Two / Issue One|
|The Meat Poem
Gandhi never ate beef.
He was shot.
When I tried to become a vegetarian
my morn refused to make tofu.
Maybe she didn't want me to end up like Gandhi.
Instead she made brisket and noodle kugel
like any good Jewish mother would
because her mother before her did.
She convinced me that I liked meat.
Morn didn't need a man to barbeque
because real women know how to use a grill.
Sometimes we'd eat steak with our fingers
and sometimes we'd cut our hamburgers with a fork.
That's just the way it was
I'm not saying it made sense all the time.
Nothing does, though,
Certainly not loveľ
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