m/

cut with a knife,
i split the spare ribs in two—
blood on the board,
but it’s mine and i like it that way.

i make my own rub:
paprika, oregano, onion powder—
more of this, less of that.
a bit of sugar,
because even bitter days
need something sweet to burn.

slide it in the oven,
slow like a sunday.
two hours to glory.
but i’ve got to run.

i tell my roommate,
take it out if i’m gone—
hell, eat it too, i don’t mind.
good food’s meant to be shared
or stolen.

then i leave,
step into the daylight
like it owes me nothing,
watch a movie
with a girl who barely talks to me—
some foreign flick with too much heart
and just enough silence.

and still—
somewhere in the back of my head,
those ribs sit quiet,
smoking like a memory
i might come home to.
or not.
either way,
it’s a good day.