Cooking Class [Revised]

Cuts of meat hang clothesline style over my fire; smoke paints flesh a deep ebony. I sit, staring at my stove pondering spices; wrapping bacon neatly its grease slipping slowly like sweat. My knife balances in my scarred fingers; it lingers close to the strings squeezing juice into the pan. slicing twice, I relieve the meat's stress and walk slowly to my table to be Hannibal and bite deep, watching the blood seep onto green grass. Students watch my class in horror, I smile knowing they will remember this summer forever.