Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Goodbye, BBQ grill.

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)


Lawnwrangler said...

Is that a poisonous dart frog next to the portobello mushrooms? That might be a nice snack.

Jennette said...

I wish. I think that's some spilled BBQ sauce.

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