Blood Sausage
It is just what you think it is,
she says.
Bloody vampires they are,
I retort,
an island of thirsty vampires.
But you eat ground meat.
Where do you think it comes from?
That’s different,
I say,
I don’t roll it up like a Cuban
and eat the blood.
Quit being such a pissy little neurotic,
she chides,
you get this way whenever my mother
threatens to visit.
I do not answer her
so she believes she is
right.
Pouring another goblet
of Chilean red,
I pretend
I’m drinking blood.
One long gulp
like the first class wanker
I am.