Dining Time

By the time the chicken thaws
I doubt that I’ll be hungry.
When it’s ready to be cooked,
you’ll have surely flown the coop.
When those thighs become unfrozen
I suspect that I’ll be single
and you’ll have quit your membership
in our special little group.

Before I turn the gas on
I sense we’ll not be speaking
and our doors will slam repeatedly
prior to marinade.
Rather than eat, we argue
if the last three weeks are honest
and we’ll soon complete another fight
our future further betrayed.

I think I could get past this
diet we have started
where instead of making meals
we simply go to war.
If I hadn’t realized that
between my heart and stomach
and all the hate I have for one
I love you that much more

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