a spoiled, foodie tale in response to BHD

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Image for post

Butter is a state of mind,
Not a simple creamery
To find, and melt over troubled
Complexities of carbohydrates

Soft, and dreamy,
Neither fat, nor thin
The trouble begins
When we’re not supposed to…

This means yes
To those of us who take knives
To rules, slicing the word
Into smaller, more palatable chunks
Of Y and E and S

To digest at our leisure,
Holding back is for the birds

Also, no
To those of us who take warnings
As crows would caw at spindly trees,
The way you don’t cross
Over the double yellow, or see

Yourself dying a happy, piccata death,
Drowning in brown butter sauce,

I digress…

The only real question
That remains before stars align,
To track the tip of judgmental buds
Laid out in gluttonous signs of a
Spoiled foodie map

Over pink Himalayan salt,
A complimentary kiss of au jus
That finds the French Dip pleasingly
Impossible to eschew…

Is what type of wine
Did you buy for the brie?

Written by

Holes and a series of rabbits — my debut poetry collection — now available! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B089RRRGXX/

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