Baby Carrots
Poets ... no more make poems
than carpenters make carp
or plumbers make plums.
Poets grace the glossy rack brochures
of the multi-starred hotels
with alphabetical hors d'oeuvers
(anonymously, of course)
Purée for the poets. Purée! Purée!
Poets write the captions under photos
of food over which you drool.
Tempermental as chefs, they whine
until they get it right.
Poets fingers stink of chalk also
from the Blue Plate cafe blackboard
in the pseudo-leather luncheonette
with the stainless steam table chowline
offering grits, groats, and grist for
the serial miller.
All You Care To Eat at Poem's
The Only Road Kill Diner with Carry Out Carrion
Featuring a never-ending fending off a death
with one lifeless forkful at a time.
Chew. Swallow. Smile. It's all you got.
Poets ... no more make poems
than carpenters make carp
or plumbers make plums.
Today's Special
is a wild-caught, lightly braised Carp
marinated in Plum Whine Sauce
with goose-buttered Baby Carrots.
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© David L. White
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