I burned tonight’s steak.
I charred the chicken last week,
And the pork went up in smoke the week before that.
I'm scorching, not scoring, at this sport men call
"Barbeque."
I don't mind burning meat -- for now --
because, even though he did the grilling when he was around,
I'll learn.
Every week, I trot out some virgin cut of flesh,
fire up the grill,
and let her go.
Eating my burned dinner, I chuckle
at the times people have mistaken me for a vegetarian.
For, you see, I devour both meat and men.
