The Artist

[Leanne]

Each night he dines
on the best we have to offer

Hiding stains, we rug-pull
and doily-dust, best china
(cracked)
warmed by his relentless grill

Lacks salt, please sweat some more –
I will not remember your sauce

He gorges and purges,
ungrateful,
yet we beg for his return

We can bake until we burn
but without his spark
it is only bread


Do with it what you will, it can't fight back