The Onlooker
Why do you look upon me with reproach,
two-eyed fried eggs? I swear, only hunger
and hopelessness have led me to encroach
into the kitchen. The quite pushy monger,
who sold me a used cornucopia
from China, promised me a Peking duck.
Alas, a mustard and a cowpea are
all what drops out if to say “potluck!”
according to instructions… My onlooker,
my oversalted prayer, my lone prey,
my bitter daily bread, forgive the cooker,
whose wife not long ago passed away.
A sleeplessness, a heartburn, an egg white
in frying pan, an endlessly long night.
30/07/2019
Cornucopia Cooking Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
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