Fresh, sweet peas, strung by deft fingers,
cooked with a chunk of bacon fat, and
small potatoes
so tender, you eat them skin and all

Just-baked cornbread, steam rising,
soft in the middle
with a crunchy edge, the memory of
Pa’s yellow cornbread, so many years gone

Peaches and cream corn – doesn’t taste like peaches,
but that’s probably a good thing;
it’s definitely a good thing,
Buttered and sucked off the cob

Sunday dinner,
Poetry in my mouth