Although my hips may not agree, nothing tastes better than Kentucky cooking  

biscuits cut, smothered in gravy
tomatoes sliced, baked into pie
turkey, bacon stacked as hot brown
pimentos spiced into balls of cheese
peaches canned by a friend’s mother
tea so sweet, it makes my teeth ache
smoked oak inhaled in old-fashioned
cobs of corn pepper pans of bread
green beans snipped on porches
ham hocks simmered for burgoo
beans I don’t set and never will
potatoes sliced thin, fried with bacon
apples from orchards, cinnamon spiced
sausage rolled, baked into balls
cream cheese, powdered sugar
swirl within pumpkin rolls
barbecue brisket melts on the tongue
but devil an egg and you’ve got  

me for life