“The king of herbs is dead!
Long live the king of herbs!”
is the thought that comes to mind
while ripping basil in two
and tossing it over sizzling zucchini

no one is home
but me,
no one here to hear a twenty-something
wax etymological,
because his parents have yet to return

and so the dishes sit, prepared
with helpings removed for their preparer who,
not waiting, prepares to
enjoy a meal

what is it about fresh herbs that
make you feel like you accomplished something
instead of simply eking out survival?