Gretchen Filart

There is much to be said about gourmand meals and killing. The more ingrained torture is
before basting the meat, the more luxurious.
That vapid sharks’ fin soup, for instance.
Oh divine fins carved out from squiggling live shark, thrown back to the ebb finless,
to hemorrhage slowly to the last breath.
Or perhaps that exquisite foie gras,
product of the fine craftsmanship
of throat rammers
and sedentary ducks overfed through colossal steel tubes pushed farther down the larynx creating delightful, hefty, cirrhotic livers.
Such highly coveted delicacies,
as cold-blooded as they are exorbitant.
Of course, monsieur,
acquired taste comes with a price.
We must hire expert butchers and torturers, for one. They come as rare these days, I suppose,
as inquisitive minds bent over a plate of meat.

Gretchen is a writer of poems and creative nonfiction. Her work appears in Rappler, Philippines Free Press, Anti-Heroin Chic, Rejection Lit, Maudlin House, The Daily Drunk, and elsewhere. She resides in the Philippines with her daughter, kooky cats, and dogs. Say hi on Twitter @gretchenfilart, on Instagram @ourworldinwords_, or via her website, ourworldinwords.com.