| This Edition's Poetry |
Seeing Red
Don’t expect me to enter
the arena every time, for example,
when you ask with a flourish
of your whisked off undershirt,
Do you want tomato soup
or romaine with vichyssoise?
Doesn’t it then follow
that, by plunking down a spoon
instead of laying out a salad fork,
you take the decision out of it,
sort of like asking
with the boredom of
a tired waiter--
Do you want me to
kiss you first?
by Karen Finnigan
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