Lunch Poem
The joy of watching cooking
shows while eating a simple meal.
Simple, ha, ha. Elaborate foodways.
You admire how deftly someone
rolls out a flattened sun, though
you’d rather eat the moon, like
any other self-proclaimed poet.
It is 12:18, and you pour a ramekin of
blueberries to justify a few more minutes
with the screen. When lunch ends,
it’ll be the wad of your brain you work on
unloosing from the upholstery
of your thoughts where it has become
so stuck on one thing.
4 thoughts on "Lunch Poem"
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I love the flattened sun!
I love this:
You admire how deftly someone/rolls out a flattened sun, though/you’d rather eat the moon, like/any other self-proclaimed poet.
Dedication to the cooking shows! We like to watch them as well. Love that you used the word “ramekin.” We often adopt their language – like when we have crustini (actually toast).
you’d rather eat the moon, like
any other self-proclaimed poet. – lovely lines
Thanks, all!