“What Price?”

“What Price?”

What price, the fee for casual converse blocked?
The harm outweighs the benefit in terms
That suit hereafter more than graves and worms,
Reward enough for some, but less than naught
At all for me, or better, left of fraud.
No substance for a single meal is earned
Except for vultures as the scavengers learn
Its whereabouts and take what’s left as stock
For soups. Their substance boiled ingredients—
Salvation in the spice and never mind
The content of the broth—its goal arraigned
Within a semblance as a token nourishment
To conquer moments in a steep decline
Of condiments’ delights, with nothing gained.

…painting above by Eden Compton; below by Darren Thompson…