Dinner for One

It was a monster of our making

And a recipe for utter disaster

Feeding its rapacious appetite

Do you not hear its stomach rumble?

Yet, we set its table with knife and fork

Deadly, sharpened, poised and egging

Over mournful shrouds of starched linen

Its wineglass brimming, bleeding red

With plates ladened with freshest youth

To fill the foul stench of its breath and maw

Hungering no more – our cannibal of war

Yet, we deliver course after tragic course

Never to reach dessert – elusive sweet victory

But for midden spoils of bone and gore

Despite our prayers and graces’ implore.

Cheung-Ling Wong

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