Bistro bloody center

 My eyes became the sun
The meat was raw and glistened in these eyes i keep.
This meat tasted like grass manure puke.
It's fat had tipped toward rancid 
The bloody center offputting

The waiter was drunk and swaying in his boots
The old lady of the house was cackling and mumbling
Spouting words spontaneously
I paid the two hundred and split

It wasn't file mignon it was just gristle
So left but I hadn't eaten
Behind the cars of the parking lot
sat a cook and a waitress sharing a joint
The smoke smelt like grass manure puke