The Sunday Poem: Soul Food

If we are what we eat then dogs are kibble,
All bounding grains and some
Substantial portion of lamb.
And us? Walking past a park we are all

Gangly asparagus and sly cabbage,
Chicken more often than we’d like,
All too often greasy fingered from fast
Eatings, while time takes away time.

Society ladies folded and folded over
Canapés, some revealing dustbin leftovers
And a tasteless heart, others housing
A surprise of flavor within complexity.

Powerful men made of the juices
Of dried up things, raisins and plums,
Often sniffed and judged wanting, with
All the taste in the bouquet.

Working men, beefy and blood red
Hearty from the day and from the dirt,
With a dash of potatoes behind their ears
And a dash of hops to keep their heads up.

Last, a surprise, the girls from both coasts,
Willowy to haggard, caught in their seasons,
Rose and primrose, orchid, dandelion,
Haughty, wondrous gaudy, tasteless flowers.

– July 8th, 2001