photo by DanF.
This week's Poetry Tuesday poem marks an occasion for gentle weeping: a seasonal end to the grilling and eating of food out of doors. It's thoroughly, predictably cold now. *sigh.* Remember the summer?
Brooklyn: Barbecue Avenue
Ash of grilled cornsilk drifts through unflowered lattice slats
like ticker-tape parades: Hooray for Food! Bon Voyage!
Hot cobbler in pans warmed on coals washes with
thick tongue-bending gold: syrupy peaches deepened by time,
real cream a sudden luxury, unexpected out of kitchens.
Last fork in white plastic, remarkable tines -- purposeful:
to do with, to help make full. Seitan is in me, pale eggplant.
Meaty Portobello, potato-rich kebabs of red and white.
Greens washed with lemon citrus splashes, flashes
of flame, the romance of lighterfluid and match;
giddy, I am dripping with watermelon, leaving
tea-leaf messages on concrete: our fortunes as sweet.
Appetites expand, time slows, we can eat everything,
ingest and comprehend whole plates of flavor and talk.
Licking my fingers again, I am aware of clouds
moving against each other and above
our crowd below, moving against each other
easily, with affection, lingering even late, how
the sky blesses us – sweetness of not-quite-rain
(photo by DanF)
2 comments:
Is that a poisonous dart frog next to the portobello mushrooms? That might be a nice snack.
I wish. I think that's some spilled BBQ sauce.
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