Eye of the Beholder

Eye of the Beholder

Metal tongs pull a slice of prime rib
onto my plate at the buffet.
I notice a brunette at another table
and avoid staring at her legs.

Turkey buzzards cluster around a fallen doe
like little stout Deaths in feathered robes
and sickle beaks.

The bandage around my arm itches
from where I donated blood.
Cotton stained red and now brown.

(for this week’s Living Poetry prompt and Sammi’s Weekend Writing prompt.)

About Bartholomew Barker

Bartholomew Barker is one of the organizers of Living Poetry, a collection of poets and poetry lovers in the Triangle region of North Carolina. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he makes money as a computer programmer to fund his poetry habit.
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13 Responses to Eye of the Beholder

  1. Cassa Bassa says:

    This definitely made me think trice 😃😄

    Liked by 1 person

  2. rothpoetry says:

    Interesting how perspective changes everything! Well done!!

    Liked by 2 people

  3. berniebell1955 says:

    Goodness me, Bart….blood – and our responses to it – and the taking of it.

    And… there’s so much in it – in your poem – and in blood, of the essence of each individual.


    “like little stout Deaths in feathered robes
    and sickle beaks.” – Goodness me.

    Vultures clear up carcasses – helping to prevent infection – useful.
    A person’s reaction can depend on how they look at them – how they ‘see’ them – food for thought again – not presented on a plate though.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. What is carrion to one; is the world’s greatest prize to another. 🏆

    Liked by 1 person

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