Saturday, 31 July 2010


Rice dribbled over chicken bits,
Sliced to fit
And peppered with peas,
As the meal danced around the pan’s ramshackle
It’s metal bowl smouldering in the middle like a fiddler,
It’s patina greener than a novice flautist
And it’s handle bandier than a local vocalist’s legs.

The meat and veg wrestled for the
Grain’s attention
Whilst getting the better of the tempo
Set by the conductor’s wooden spoon baton,
Which swished
Back and forth with less diligence
Than a chef’s willingness should offer,
And cost more kitchen time than required.

But by the time the food’s music
Had shed a tune worth using
It tasted racier than the spice of life;
Spliced together
And healthier than standing all day
With a woman who’s ways
Don’t stretch much further than salmon,
And doesn’t give a damn for my harmony.

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