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Dave Bonta
poor hand like a hanging ham
I carry to any enemy or love
see how it hopes to change
and grow clear as a promise
At sea, I take both legs
to the leg of a ham
and we quarrel
like words in a well.
The king, holding us
in his arms, laying
down on a chair,
breaks open
and gives us
his sons and countries,
his family, his ceremonies,
his neck and his left leg
like a ham made to do
in lieu of lobster.
Good Friday
at home with my wife,
a good ham to read to,
supper-to-be.