the delicacy of the ego
spread thin on a water cracker,
served with cocktails of fresh cane juice
and uncommon bottles of bitters.
the cracker’s crunch
a percussive counterpoint to
the dulcet baritone professions of passion,
pieces and bits of the cracker fallen to the floor,
soaked in a bit of oil from the ego paste,
now to be incorporated into the hardwood
via leather soles and colorful flats.
consumable, combustible, fragile as a fish egg,
cured and preserved for deft consumption
a string of fancy footwork and laughs
and glass refills
having made its swift redistribution.
a dollop from the next hand,
perched on a spoon,
hovers over the waiting cracker.