The words and feelings that are sorted jambalaya
like a slow cooker they steam and churn
burnt offerings of the most selective cuts
adding spice and touches of old seeping memories
there seems to be no end to the feast of negativity
written in crocks of smiles, still can't toast it just right
when you've been half baked and fried to death
roasting at excessive high heat and drenched in hot sauce
it's hard to swallow the sweet essence of life's flavors
serve it up with crusty bread and wine to the guests
they have no clue what they've imbibed
would they choke on the horse of a different color
if they knew they just dined on sacrificial lamb
supper is tastefully served with a side order of Heimlich