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British PetroleumWaves turn sand to mudOil washed away like darknessThat sad, long lost mess
Steak SandwichA taste of red leaps and bounds all over the place, flashes of gold splash around.The waitress's words feel soft as wool as she asks,"Does everything taste all right?"It does, but it's not that simple.Beef gets torn apart with every bite,Chewed through, crunched throughThe fried onions are spiky, and jab at my tongue while making crackling sounds under the pressure of teeth.The bread is rough and tough, all of the softness toasted out of it.There's too much else going on here for one to just taste their food.