M. J. Rychlewski

L’Invitation au Mange

Oh God! I forgot
to set the table with your
son’s shroud. Forgive me.

Perhaps you will dine
with me anyway and not
let this go to waste

like human flesh when
entropy and rebellion
marry. Let’s let by

gones be forgotten.
I recommend cantaloupe
with some prosciutto,

but you may prefer
the kidneys. Personally
I don’t like innards,

though they say the heart
is delicious. They? Gee. Beats
me. Those in the know?

Say! I really think
that salt-and-pepper-look in
your sky becomes you.

I know. My wife says
I should cool it with the jokes
lest a piano fall

from your black heaven
and flatten me like Elmer Fudd
while Irving Berlin

strums, “Blue skies. Nothing
but blue skies do I see.” Yes.
I thought you might have

a previous engagement.
Oh! No problemo!
I was going to dine alone.

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