You are what you Eat

You take me to the kitchen    
After an hour of    
Fucking on your floor  

Three shelves of liquor    
And rotten, hard boiled eggs  
In the fridge.  
      
She’s crazy  
You say    
The fourth woman tonight  
With outrageous proclivities.  
    
You strut naked    
Having conquered the conquest    
A roll of fat complimenting    
Ham hock legs.    
   
I’m trying to study the paintings  
That you picked up    
At a thrift shop  
Chosen for their lack    
Of imagination, I suppose.  
 
I have a feeling you're crazy    
He says  
Through teeth smeared  
With squeeze cheese and Ritz crackers    
To leave your son    
On a Wednesday night.    
   
I wish I would have left  
Emptied the squeeze cheese    
On his limp, arrogant dick  

Instead    
I brushed the hair off my forehead    
Did my best to ignore the burning welts  
On my ass  
And the bruises just emerging  
On the back of my arms.