Love

Let’s talk about love—
not the Blue Bunny,
Dippin’ Dots that tickle your
tongue like sherbet
kind,
               or the high-fructose
corn syrup, Romeo and Juliet,
Mike and Ike, Sweet Tart, Sweet
-n-Low, aspartame, “Can’t beat
the real thing,” “We love to see you smile,”
kind.
               Not the shredded wheat
kind.
               But the high-calorie, high-fat,
steak burger oozing around the edges,
can’t be contained in paper
or plastic, can’t be canned even by
Chef Boyardee
kind.
               The kind between the
condiments.
Fresh from the butcher, grease-dripping
polish sausage—the fill you up,
overflow you, give you a
heart attack
kind.