Slim Jims

It was late and I was sitting

At the bar.

The bartender looked like Jesus

From those old Italian paintings,

A little gaunt, bearded, and with

Hair past his ears.

A girl was perched on a stool

To my right, staring at empty

Wrappers piled in a neat mess.

“What are those?” I asked her.

“Snacks,” she replied. “I’m hungry.”

The bartender came up with another

Slender plastic wrapped package,

Shaking his head.

“It’s my seventh one,” she said, smiling.

“Seventh what?” I asked.

“She’s eating Slim Jims,” the bartender said,

Still shaking his head.

I watched her eat the meat product

with gusto.

 

Even Jesus doesn’t approve of

Mechanically separated pork

and chicken.