Cooking something is like you’re saying it

saying just what you think when you make food

I mean give words to it. Poets are good

cooks. Even after her stroke Bernadette

can still bake a chicken, prepare and stick

it in the oven, bring it out just right.

Phil grills sausage and sets them in our sights

thick sensual ready to bite. Who mixed

the salad with herbs from the woods and greens

chilled and tossed naked with fresh vinaigrette?

Who put the bread and cheese here? Bernadette!

I cut lemons, my fingers straining seeds

squeeze over ice and vodka, no small feat.

Reader, join us if you want to. Let’s eat!