[RCL]

Mom’s Broccoli

Mom’s pasta plate had fed them all—
extended family and paesani.
Witty, she amused this mob,
and sang the Great Depression Blues
when she ran out of meaty bones
and boiling broccoli fouled the air.
As I grew up, she’d often groan
Pasta with broccoli—months on end!
At dinner once, she told her brood,
It’s all they serve in pauper’s hell.
Then holding up my school report—
a string of Ds and Es, one C—,
she signaled Dad to back her up,
but he kept chewing prime filet.
Nostrils flared, she sniffed at me:
This smells of future broccoli!

[Jim Moonan]

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Sam Gwynn posted a food poem on FB that is excellent. Wish he would post it here for you to read. Or you can track it down on FB.
.

[Ann Drysdale]

You can track it down right here on the 'sphere. Click on "search" and look for "Fried Beauty".

[Jim Moonan]

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Yup, that's it.

Here it is, prepared by Sam Gwynn and served up by moi:


Fried Beauty

Glory be to God for breaded things—
...Catfish, steak finger, pork chop, chicken thigh,
.........Sliced green tomatoes, pots full to the brim
With french fries, fritters, life-float onion rings,
....Hushpuppies, okra golden to the eye,
............That in all oils, corn or canola, swim

Toward mastication’s maw (O molared mouth!);
....Whatever browns, is dumped to drain and dry
.............On paper towels’ sleek translucent scrim,
These greasy, battered bounties of the South:
............................Eat them.


(I'm not "new" to the sphere any longer, but not old enough either to have been aware before I started this thread that the topic had already been covered. Not that there's anything wrong with a second helping. In fact it would be considered a compliment in some households — And in Sam's case his poem is really "Re-fried Beauty" : ))

.

[RCL]

Another nod to W.B.Yeats

Miss Piggy and the Swine

A sodden smack: the boar’s snout steaming still
Atop a piglet, pinkish ribs suppressed
By fleshy hams as juices slowly spill
On both and his chest mingles with her breast.

What way can tenderloins and forearms push
Away the marbled fat that’s twice her size?
How can a sow within that blubbery rush,
Avoid his popping belly bacon, thighs?

The blistering hams and hocks embracing her,
Smoke smells, bright sizzling coals, the basting beer,
Her flesh grown crisp.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Being so sauced up
And paired with a prize swine from County Fair,
Did she know flavor was their only power,
That Texas Barbeque was their last stop?

[Allen Tice]

On the next-to-last palindromic date 12/11/21 (US 2021) this year, I offer (from p 35 of the previously mentioned title, Of Course,):


          Wisconsin Rhapsody


He likes to see his lovely lassy there
In Madison, Wisconsin’s Greyhound station —
Alive at the planet’s best encounter, filling
Those coffee cups he needs to be serene —
Far from the bus announcer’s clarion shrilling,
Her recreation serving dawn flirtation
Like easy sunrise. So, what does he declare?

Oh, listen to my words. He just remakes
Mountains from soda fountains, billets-doux
From luncheonette placemats, while he devours
Waffles drowned in syrup and apple yogurt,
And groans about the earliness of her hours,
Then leaves a pourboire on the breakfast menu
That rests beside the showcase full of cakes.

[RCL]

Of Ray’s First Disobedience

Confined in his
highchair, Ray ate
but was confused:
mashed potatoes
nice and white
the butter yellow
apple sauce tan
and peas bright green.
But the bread: brown?

He tasted all
except the poopy
looking bread.
Dad said eat it
eat it eat it
but Ray didn’t.
Before he left
for work again
Dad told Mom
Make sure he eats it.

With other foods
from time to time
Ray tried, got sick.
This time he wouldn’t
touch the bread.
Daylight went dark
and even darker.
As Mom removed
his plate, her tears
dropped on the bread.

Comforted
and put to bed
Ray somehow knew
(would not forget)
the pains and gains
of disobeying.

[Jim Moonan]

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Hi Ralph, I've been break-neck busy of late but had to drop in to say the Of Ray's First Disobedience poem is great. It brings back memories of tense standoffs at the table and punishment and threats and tears. Great topic. I've got a few swimming around in my head now, thanks to you!

.

[RCL]

Hey Jim! Glad it wet your appetite for exploration of the topic.

[Michael Cantor]

Okay Ralph, you'll regret dragging this up again. It only encourages me. Another from my first book. Hang in there, wade through the boring sex stuff, and I eventually get around to food.

Pretty Gaijin Boys Have Often Been Her Weakness

This one smells so sweet
And sour – like takuan pickles -
Her pretty silly
Gaijin daikon pickle boy
She stretches as he strokes her

...Oh God, he thinks, this is incredible:
...he has to find the time to write them all
...I’m at the legendary Old Imperial
...and met this geisha girl, and now she’s curled
...up in my bed right here in Tokyo!

Pretty gaijin boys
Have often been her weakness
That and the brandy
And danna-san off golfing
In Hakone with his wife

...Yanagibashi geishas, he’d been told;
...very famous and traditional.
...But most were old. And then the casual
...hand upon his thigh, a squeeze, a bold
...but private look, a number on a card.

Such luck to find him
A boring Daiwa party
After shall we meet?
She glided through the lobby
Panties folded in her sleeve

...They spent the morning making love again,
...and still he could not quite believe that she
...was real – she had been dressed so carefully,
...kimono purple, golden sash, and then,
...beneath that silk, no underwear, just skin.

No more time to play
The Fuji Bank reception
Starts at six she must
Instruct the maids and dancers
First some lunch with daikon-boy

...He’s never used the hotel sushi bar;
...the sweep of pine, the rows of lacquer trays,
...so Japanese. I don’t eat fish, he says
...but shrimp’s okay, and nuzzles at her ear,
...then runs his fingers through the just-brushed hair.

Sushi Master Jun
Knows her from Yoshiwara
Suggests rich tuna
Streaked with fat. And for your friend?
She requests the dancing shrimp.

...Raw shrimp, alive and writhing, are now spread
...behind the counter, heads and shells stripped clean,
...the bodies dipped in soy and served to him.
...He watches each one quiver, armor shed,
...too dumb to know it is already dead.