The sword of hunger
snips the squeak of the intestine
which is like a cry of a new born baby.
Cho! Chop!
All shefs!
To cook! To cook!
You must go!
Cutlery jumps,
stoves burn,
veggies fear.
I open the cupboard
with the robustness of an elephant
as I inspected what will be on the menu,
and flipped the recipe book like a pastor
who just lost his verse.
