Sonnet with Used Car and Julia Child

You were there with him, weren’t you? I knew it.He knew how to order wine. The quietchianti that left red welts on your tongue.He knew you better; he loved you better.He knew how to put you back togetherafter the deboning, like Julia Childdid with a Thanksgiving turkey: no onecould tell it wasn’t whole. You would love himfor that. No you now. Just scraps. Ecstatic.After lunch he took you to buy a car,got you a deal that made you cry Olé!,the huckster dripping blood from wounds so cleanhe didn’t feel a thing. You were bangingall down the road like cans at a wedding.