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Poem

Just saying the words "blueberry pie"
changes the way you feel.
And it's no wonder it finds a place of honor
at the end of a home-cooked meal,
for there is no need to pit nor peel
this sweet-tart low-bush fruit,
just add a dash of sugar and a flaky shell
and a little bit of love to boot.

When you say the words "blueberry pie"
most everyone turns their head,
anxious to learn if they can have a taste
for it's better than cake or cornbread.
And isn't it fun to see its purply goo 
on your fingers or encircling your lips,
or showing everyone your purply tongue
as though you were in a pie-eating championship?

And have you ever smelled a blueberry pie
emerging hot and fresh from the oven?
Does the aroma trigger a thousand fond memories
and send you into the kitchen running?
And is there anything more enticing to see
than a slice dripping with vanilla ice cream?
And then gobbling an extra slice or two
is like living out a blueberry dream.

And who used to bake those blueberry pies?
Your grandmother or a neighborly friend?
And didn't its savory buttery crusts
make you want dessert time to never end?
So how do we know that a blueberry pie
has changed the way you feel?
That look in your eye and that smile on your face
are quite hard to conceal.

copyright © 2019 Gregory Firlotte

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