The Breakup

I bought a pound
of ground beef on sale
the other day, angus
mind you, eighty per
cent lean.
It was slashed half off.
I just might die from it.
Despite the seasoning,
the hot peppers, the sauce,
the lettuce and tomato,
the white onion,
the slice of sharp cheddar
cheese, melted, and grilling
the hell out of it. It was bad.
Tainted. But I ate it
just the same. I chewed
it. I swallowed it. I let
it all go down. Every bite.
And now I'm sick and on
the couch with a pink
bottle of pepto gripped
in my trembling hand. I'm
sweating. And this brings
me to you. I can't see you
anymore. This relationship
is just not working out.
I'm sorry, but it's over.