We are all sausages
In our skin linked together.
Blood, bone, meat put
Through the daily grind.
Some red, some brown,
Some white, each flavored
To local spice and taste.
Yes, we are all sausages
Ready for the plate, a meal
Off the grill or cold, sliced
Or whole in a bun, smeared
With colorful condiments.
We are a feast, consumed,
Both the best and worst.
Bruce Morton divides his time between Montana and Arizona. He is the author of two poetry collections: Planet Mort (2024) and Simple Arithmetic & Other Artifices (2014). His poems have appeared in numerous online and print venues. He was formerly dean at the Montana State University library.
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