Tongue in Cheek Cheek in Flame

Vivix

Tongue in Cheek, Cheek in Flame

I slipped my tongue into cheek like a secret note into a locker—

confident, conspiratorial, certain the hallway would applaud.

Sarcasm is a spice, they say.

I shook it generously—paprika of punchline, cayenne of commentary—

until the stew of my sentence set off the smoke alarm.

The cheek, unaccustomed to heat, blushed into wildfire.

What began as a wink became a five-alarm metaphor

with firefighters named “Clarification”

and “I Didn’t Mean It Like That.”

I stood there fanning the air with a napkin of nuance,

insisting this was artisanal combustion.

“Controlled burn,” I coughed, as eyebrows evacuated the premises.

Turns out irony is highly flammable.

Turns out tone travels faster than intent.

My tongue, once smug in its corner booth,

now sips water and studies the exit signs.

Still—

I’ll season again.

More carefully.

A pinch, not a pour.

Because humor is a candle, not a torch—

and I do prefer my cheeks medium rare.

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This ekphrastic poem's title is the twelfth line from one of my earlier poems, that poem was made up of incomplete sentences, that somehow made great titles.

©2026 Christopher Reilley 

 

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