Barbaric Gourmet or Confessions of Eating Alone or Don't Come to My House for Dinner

Tonight I chewed the fat off of my lamb ribs
(pan-seared with a spice-and-chili rub) and drank
from the liter Pelegrino bottle, grasping it's
neck like a forty.

My farmers market baby greens and
grape tomatoes having been
wolfed down, I tipped
the bowl to my face and
drank the dressing.

I swiped my tongue up
a gallon tin when olive oil
started streaming
down the side.

And then I ate my stove-top roasted
eggplant with my fingers.

From the pan.