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Ribs Poem

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The Ribs

By David Jackson

She ate the ribs slowly
as if
to remember them, or
that time at Tennessee
Red’s
licking the succulent
sauce
off the
bones and
savouring the moment.
They tasted good to
her,
salted just
right and
smoked just
long
enough.
It is as if the ribs suggested
the absolute fact of
the moment.
The essence of any
moment when smoked and
salted just right
can make you lick your
fingers
again as if to say
these ribs, these
ribs are just
right

Copyright © 1997 by David Michael Jackson, All rights reserved


Send private comments to author:  dave@artvilla.com

Art by David Michael Jackson



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