Monday, April 30, 2012

NaPoWriMo, Day Thirty, Poem Fifteen

Bacon

My girlfriend is vegetarian,
but lately there's been problems.
Not with  temptation, 
but with intrusion.


Bacon is drawn to her
despite no mutual attraction,
happily serving tofu strips
to her daughter at breakfast.

Bacon is a childhood 
she never liked, avoided
in the school cafeteria.  
Recently, it's gotten intrusive,
bacon bits in her saldad.

This after years of
artful dodging with waiters.
This was the worst yet,
the rabbit in the stove pot.

I share fruit cups
to put more blockades
between her plate and mine.

Three bacon strips barside
at my table's end
keep to themselves.

Both of us paranoid,
I brush my teeth
after every breakfast.

The mint on my breath
tells her it's me
protects her violation
and me from mistrust.


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