In response to Writer’s Digest Wednesday Poetry Prompt: “Write a poem about something in the room.”

Spilt salt spoils luck
but sprinkles season meat
and shrivels up the slugs
and erodes healthy teeth.
Salt makes you sneeze
and makes wounds sting
and flavors your tongue
with words that spice
up life with a savior
but still burn when thrown
in someone else’s eyes.
Salt resides in seas
inhabited by schools
and inhabits mines
occupied by kids,
then transferred to stores
in family-friendly packages
to preserve factory meat
of genetically modified sheep.
Salt softens ice
and hardens fruit
and seasons lies
with supple truth.
Salt lives in our flesh,
our bones, and in our mouths,
but the salt we crave most
comes from the clouds.


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