the chef (revisited)
thought that i would cook tonight
a little something quick and lite?
lord knows that i'm not a chef,
just making something for myself
i really won't need fancy pans...
exotic spices in a can...
picture books with recipies...
garden fresh ground parsley leaves...
lemon fresh squeezed for that flavor
you want steaming on your table.
sun tea for a quenching drink?
dirty pots piled in the sink?
none of that comes with this meal
this vaunted feast served so sureal
all i need is just some time
to figure out on what to dine
then just a minute more to think
what would be the perfect drink?
some salt to add to open wounds
fresh loneliness, add several spoons
baste liberally this broken heart
with pain from being far apart
add a cup of truths half told
and marinate this entree cold
then set aside to be ignored
and buttered with generic words
seasoned lightly with a touch
of fresh ground dreams and broken luck.
then garnish with those memories
that mean so very much to me
then i'll just go off to bed...
eat this feast here in my head...
savor each warm hollow bite
let it sate me for the night
with each empty, filling course
is gluttony with no remorse
let night clear the table clean
wipe the glasses to a sheen
put the dishes all away
ready for another day
for the next forgotten spread
that i prepare inside my head
which culinary artist could
prepare a feast, just half this good?
with all these things that fill the pot
that are here but, really not
perhaps i really am a chef
when i'm cooking for myself...
jeffro
