I’m breaking the wishbone,
snapping a breast bone,
feeling crepitus at the sternum.
You’re not breathing or wishing.
Keeping both halves buried
chest deep – almost to heart.
Lime green scribble ambles
across the monitor. An earthworm
newly exposed to sun,
of electrical current
through cardiac muscle.
Your heart at this point resembles
a bowl of Jello trembling. Cradled
in the early nineties by Bill Cosby.
Raspberry or orange being
the only two flavours my
Great Grandmother used
for her standby Jello salad ring.
A Thanksgiving staple served
with the bird not dessert. She died
last September. So I worked the holiday
because we had a funeral instead
of a good meal. Tiny sandwiches
don’t get you into Valhalla.
Hollandaise and truffles
please. Skimp on the box.
My uncle was there. He turns
loved ones into keepsakes
with the push of a button and 870’C.
Unrecognizable is the key.
Like the animals in the midsections
of the crustless canapés.
We all just keep stealing carbon,
making it our own. North Americans
are 60% corn if you get down to it.
expatriates’ harvest. Unrecognizable
corn as syrup, oil, and gravy
thickeners. Feed the cow ate,
who is beef now. Hungry
worms will eat Grandma Maxwell
and use her carbon, from corn
and otherwise. Writhing about when
tilled up in the field on a sunny day
until they lie still and flat. Then we
will call it asystole- and call the doctor.
Leaving you still and flat.
I will ask your wife for a grocery
bag. The one she toted the cereal
and ground beef home in.
I’ll collect the packaging
and disposables strewn about the
dining room from our attempt.
Then your wife, glassy eyed –
she will insist I eat,
she made too much
– and pack up your portion.