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
Different firm within the factory
The location the belly
Cowpea the raw material be
Having brought into the factory
But afore processed to be boiled
The tongue a transporter
From the gate of the mouth
Passing through the oesophagus track-way
Enzymes within functioning as workers
And the finished product derived
Distributed by the anus
The fart is produced
For the consumption of the people
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