These Vile Visions

 

Their knives were sharp

and ready as they sat in a

circle around the dining table,

mouths drooling,

waiting for the main course.

 

The knives glittered in the

flickering candlelight around

the cavernous dining room,

flashing steely in bright flares

as their agitated users elbowed each other.

 

A final course of innocence,

soaked in a brine of dreams,

glazed in a red sauce of potential,

all to be devoured in hasty and

messy mastication.

 

A Hieronymus Bosch hellscape painting,

of a horror show dinner, rife

with the belching and blood-curdling

sighs of monstrous ecstasy with each

flickering forkful into putrid mouths.

 

The viewer, watching from above,

horrified at the crass and gaudy

display of gluttony and inconsideration,

was muffling the gags and

vomitus ready to spew from deep in his gut.

 

“Incredible,” said the viewer,

still in shock at the inhuman

display of ravenous consumption,

the depravity and assault on decency

was nearly too much for the viewer to bear.

 

“Please, let me look no more,” said the Viewer,

“this vile scene is too much!”

He covered his eyes with his hands, as if

to clear the sights from his eyes.

“I can’t believe I have to come back here

tomorrow for work,” he said.

 

“What’s wrong with you,” asked the cafeteria worker.

 

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” said the viewer.