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.)
Bartholomew Barker, Poet 
This definitely made me think trice 😃😄
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That was my goal. Thanks for reading and thinking!
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😄
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Interesting how perspective changes everything! Well done!!
Dwight
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Thanks! A little perspective is all we need.
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:>)
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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.
Blood.
“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.
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Food on a plate and on the tarmac. Glad it got you thinking.
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What is carrion to one; is the world’s greatest prize to another. 🏆
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That’s right. It all depends upon your point of view.
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Aaaannndddd…….http://www.spanglefish.com/berniesblog/blog.asp?msg=Entry%20Updated
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Thanks for reposting my little poem on your blog!
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There’s ‘nowt ‘little’ about it!
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