Member Poem

She guts sardine and curries it for her mistress,
concocting spices.
Declining her delicious share,
she puts sardine heads, a coriander leaf,
and a nip of salt on to boil.
Her bare, yucky curry is ready
before a couple of old songs end
on the FM radio.
I wonder why she prefers it every day.

A cow not only eats insipid grass voraciously,
but also enjoys chewing cud.
A taproot doesn’t seek a cocktail.
Will a kingfisher ever dive to pick a candy?
Drinking and drinking,
a diabetic doesn’t feel tea sugarless.
I relish a worm-like shrimp in spicy sheath.
In the world where people eat even cockroaches,
why should I wonder at her choice?

First published in The Literary Hatchet