and he ain't tellin'
what it is ...
... you are smellin'
by Pat Darnell
Three years work ...
and pot likker still
tastes like chicken ...
Just Kiddin' !
Prawn to King three
clock is tickin' time
turkey bastin' -- let it be,
thrice cooking ...heat lickin'
Fahrenheit two hundred nine...
Farseeing, slow cook toil
like desert gravel boil,
mesquite leaf grind,
Darjeeling, still no oil
Mocking birds don't mock,
'cause beads of sweat pock
meaty cook's forehead
and his big arm-like hocks
Cigar meshed and wet
between monstrous molars
ash mixed in pot sweat
and ash falling to floors
Foliage swept and ground
watered in morning rain
added dandelion to mound
pewter pot boilin' plain
Beads of sweat
... form stains
on chef's hat ...
his legs and neck strained
Pot's right!
... he exclaims
Grandpa was right
... it is the same
But whoa it is tough
... to embrace today
what some remember
... as good old days.
But down home we try
We're willing 'n braced,
To sit by and cry
... when we all taste:
Grandpa Willy's ...
... Wild, Turkey Chilli.
[pd. 2004]
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