Pass the Bacon

It was the stinking pig I raged against

for killing my Grandpa young,

thickening his arteries,

spawning the fatal embolic stroke.

 

Grandpa loved his rendered lard,

kept near the electric stove top in a

repurposed Best Foods mayonnaise

jar for easy storing.

 

This he poured warm over white

short-grain rice ’til they glistened

like pearls, studded with black sands

of bacon, then coated

 

with spoonfuls of powdered Nestles

Quick. Rich in oleic acid, lard is better

than butter, but I couldn’t think to blame

those innocent-eyed cows.