Cousin Jack’s Oggie

‘Pastygate’ reaches fever pitch

British Baker, 30 March 2012

First, there’s her gravity, the pull

of the underground, many a miner’s

been drowned by the weight of his lunch.

Then there’s her heat, best handle her like a potato

as thinks she’s a coal from the fire.

Tuck her in your overalls, feel her bulge

against your thigh. Drop her down a well shaft,

skim her over water, hurl her like a discus

for the sport of it, or heft her like a breezeblock.

Tap her golden skin with the back of a pick,

her crust caving in like the shell of a hard-boiled egg,

or resounding with a hollow thud like the ripest melon.

Tickle your fingers down her twisted spine.

Bite off all you can chew

and lustily grease your chin

with her unctuous short crust pastry

with just a hint of tin; crisp nickels of turnip

and spud that shove ha’penny over your palate;

steak or venison in peppery gravy mud-sliding

over your tongue to settle like ballast,

filling your cavity, reasserting

her kinship to gravity.

(c) 2012 Slush Poet