I swear. Brussels sprouts?
Broccoli?
No dice, big time back
when.
I was a kid, and my taste
was so sweet I cringe
to recall the sheer amount
of sugar I poured on me
Corn Flakes (this was well
before Def Leppard's darning
influence) to make up for them
not being Frosted.
I do know
it was Grr
ate, but my mind
reels why?
Even as my emotional
palate sings for real! To tart
pucker my today-lips at the known
sweet song those days sang!
Meanwhile,
Brussel sprouts?
Broccoli?
Back then I swear I had no taste
for the finer things, because holy
shit nutrition, one woman once
taught me how Brussels sprouts
and scallops fried up right
were Thanksgiving forever,
and it stays. Gratitude
is indicated on such
lessons, which
never lessen. But they
grow strong in memory,
bones and teeth, blood, sinew
and bone, so-informed. Marrow.
Heart.
Anyway, mind. I got a jones for
soul food, when I'm feeling
culturally apropos! And
the pizza joint - the one
I loved forever and only
place in-county that could
serve up a just slice of cheese
for one to appreciate the true
triune virtues of such simple
hot dish your palate stays
scalded, knowing how too
-fast you bolted, wolved
that once-too-many a slice!
Closed! Out of business!
Again!
So sure honey,
let's try the new soul
food place they put on it
instead, why not. GOOD
though.
Well.
Cafeteria style, and a couple
of the hot dishes came up
warm at best, but flavor?
Wise, strong, good n' true.
I took it well, then. Now?
I remember too well my inner
and then eternal kiddom. Back
then, I'd have banged my head
down once
(did!)
...on the dinner table upon
seeing there were too many
Lima beans for nine kids
to finish upright, like we
teamwork should for mom!
And her then oft-bruited
starving China complex
(typical), and I saw I was
bound to (had to) (China)
go in for seconds.
Damn.
I still hate Lima Beans in
memory. I hated those things
then, but you clean your plate
of what you chose. And go
in for seconds and thirds,
I propose.
Otherwise,
you're just some
kid.
Grow big or grow home.
Up? Sure, when and if,
but no rush. Just wait,
for there may be
more if you trust.
Please, sir, though. Can I
have some less of them
beans?
What were they thinking of?
In Peru, I mean? Those beans
to choose, cultivate, serve up
in commerce for a starved
world's vitamins or minerals?
Calories!
Hard pass, please. Don't salt
me, I yuck no yum of any
one but one.
Me.
Yet today they taste good. Weird.
Buttered adequately, salt,
to taste: they do.
Word.
Same goes with liverwurst, only
much the reverse: every damn time
I can no longer distinctly recall how
foul that goes in a sandwich. It's like
my memory holds all tastes, but I myself
have none.
I think body chemistry alters
what we crave
as we age
for a reason, but
let's all hope
I'm not just whistling
whatever offensive patriotic
hymn they blow lip service to
in Brussels, shall we?
I can tell you half the whole
"Broccoli" story too, if you like,
and kid?
No. I don't do that on food.
It's got more than you'll want
to hear about James Bond.
Not to all tastes, 007. But
dude was a hard bright ops
snob on a high royalty
authorized murder
rampage, when
he had to. Why?
Well we all know the
reason; it's since
he could
by then.
He found he could.
People were like,
Jim. He's dead.
DO IT.
It's your job.
How? Obviously
as a kid, he at least
had eaten his greens.
Now he eats all colors,
cunningly and otherwise
to the bone. Right.
Marrow.
Kiss kiss, bang
boy. Girl, whoever
they hire or rent.
It's quite a job, with
some confidence
entailed.
Not to all tastes,
I suspect.
I love
loved her
Brussels sprouts.
Less than her,
as it turned out.
As she showed
me. She
could put down
pounds of those
leafy-knot deals,
fried right! MmM!
Moms can cook
can't they.
Just not
too light.
Then again her
kid, she loved
those sprouts.
Must be something
done right. I never
cared
for them
then.
Too young, too
stupid to taste
what was always
so good.
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