The Last Supper
janine canan
The Gods have prepared the last supper.
Dali winks and sets down the appetizer,
twirling his moustache.
Mermaid sauté, poppies fumés,
and aperitif of tears, spécialité de la maison.
A whirling dakini dishes up the entrée:
bloody buffalo in scorpion sauce
served in a basket of woven women.
Followed by a bowl of moonstone-glazed
ochre sand -- decorated
with a diamond cross
and garnished with two gold rings.
Offered with sour lemons and bitter bread.
For dessert, the couple enjoy frozen hope
with burnt cream, and a final toast
of finest champagne -- from the widow's private cellar.
After supper, the lovers arise
and step onto a path dimly lit with skulls.
Marigolds, furry magenta petals
and a million dead birds strew the way.
Past holy black Bastet,
and inextinguishable shining Artemis
with her mighty bow and yelping hounds --
their way leads down forever.
