Best Served Hot by Lannie Stabile

With just her lips
as weapons,
she molded
endless, doughy
deep-fried rings of “no.”
Offering the word up,
right off the belt.
Grease spitting,
hot and fresh,
biting at fingertips
and tongues.
She knew the recipe by heart,
and fed it to the bastards,
fattening them up,
clogging their arteries.
They loved it.
And never suspected
she was swallowing them
whole.