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POEM: Sausage Grinder

 

A worn wooden knob

Shiny here, pitted there

Rotates loosely on a steel pin

Set in a sinuous cast-iron arm

A horn flares skyward

It’s fed meat and gristle

The spiral augur chews and crushes

with gruesome moist sounds

Carrying meat to the grinder blade

Shredded charnel remnants vomit forth

from a perfectly circular mouth

Tumbling into an old glass bowl

Chipped on the edge but not abandoned


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