Poem with a sausage in it



The road became slick and greasy like a sausage as the rain continued to fall.

Back in America, we sat in the diner

and watched the chef cast a spell over the

ketchup as it danced over the sausages before

settling on that slick surface.


It sat there, teasing my taste levels, testing my resolve.

I picked it up and placed the end between my teeth,

it smelled heavenly.

I took the first tender bite and felt that meaty

warmth runs down my throat.


The word sage can be found within the word sausage

just like sage is a spice found within a sausage.

Sage is what makes the sausage, its spicy

enigma exploding in my mouth.

If you think this is an attempt to humour you are wrong my friend


As the clouds rumble across the dark sky,

the slick and greasy surface of the earth’s axle

allows it to turn , like the sausage on my plate.

Clore Poetry and Literature Award, St Benet Biscop School Bedlington

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