“These fragments I have shored against my ruins”
-T. S. Eliot, The Waste Land
~ Bite-sized life.
I sit at the counter at the North End Diner and cut a sausage into six pieces.
The two end pieces are eaten immediately. Then the remaining four morsels are stood on end, creating four small squat cylinders on the breakfast plate.
A piece of sausage on its side might resist attempts to spear it. The fork might glance off the skin and send it skittering across the plate.
Turned on its end, the piece of sausage may have the pleasure of receiving a fork sunk into its marrow.
I swirl the sausage around in some egg yolk. Put it in my mouth. Chew and swallow. The small spice of meat, followed by a swig of ice water.