Soul Food

From The Table to The Toilet

From the rip.

Cutting out of church, to get a few more blessings on this day of thanks, when I'm told it's better to give, but the child in me would rather receive. I'm just copying what I see as the pastor smiles, shining his gold tooth with his thick lion like tongue. Surveying who did not contribute and will get snatched and ripped during Sunday's service.

I change out of my best, into my freshest, to show I still got enough to keep up with what everybody is chasing. I got about three houses to hit, timing it so I don't get caught passing through. Chompin' swallowin' piling on glutton. getting my bowels moving like the oldies my Nana and Grandaddy used to play.

Too much, because it's too good to stop and I'm gone, over my three-drink minimum. Dozing, stumbling, down restricted smooth ways, with a power forcing retreat. I Hunt, want, need it, to continue in an hour, after a nap, and leftovers tomorrow.