Today, My Food is Female

Today, My Food is Female


            Pancakes, fluffy and submissive.  They let the sweet, gooey syrup change their taste.  The syrup part is male.

            I didn’t always assign gender to my food.  I used to eat all kinds of haphazard and look where that got me.  Nearly homeless, nearly broke.

            But then I met George. Big, masculine George.  He would take me to restaurants and heap all kinds of man food on his plate.  Ribs and burgers and turkey legs.  He was trying to acquaint me with the way the world is, he said.

            He went on to point out the male/female aspect of other things – colors and flavors and such.  “Only men ought to eat chocolate,” he said, “much too nuanced for a girl.”  I was slightly insulted, but by then, I was enjoying my vanilla ice cream cone, and was content to smile and nod.

            Somehow, I became happy like this.  Everything simple.  I wondered how I survived before.  I even asked George as he chomped on a big manly lamb chop, but he told me to be a good girl and finish my peas.

            One night, I found out he was seeing someone else.  A male thing, he would later explain, biology and seed spreading stuff.  My job was simply to tend to the roost.  By now, my brain was all addled with gum drops and candy corn. 

            It wasn’t until he left me that it all started to wear off.  He left me a mirror note in my own lipstick “need someone with a spine” was all it said. 

            So, okay, my food is female.  But just you wait.  I got my eye on a thick, grisly porterhouse George forgot he left behind.  And pretty soon, I just might take a bite.


 Francine Witte

Francine Witte is the author of four poetry chapbooks and two flash fiction chapbooks. Her full-length poetry collection, Café Crazy, has recently been published by Kelsay Books. She is reviewer, blogger, and photographer. She is a former English teacher. She lives in NYC.

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