by Nick Gisburne
She scolds her son for bouncing on the bed
Absorbed in death and drama on TV
But something in his voice is filled with dread
He screams at her to come upstairs, to see
Now furious, she storms inside the room
Prepared to spill an avalanche of rage
But sees her small, beloved son consume
The liver of a man of middle age
A practical appraisal of the scene
Might leave another mother quite insane
But as he sucks the slurry from the spleen
She smiles and asks her boy to pass the brain
The splash of blood and entrails takes her back
To when she shared her mother’s midnight snack
