Meat

Last week ended on an eventful note. Friday, within a few hours of waking, I had descended the stairs in unconventional polyrhythmic manner and submitted a paper as well as eaten Korean food at a diner-style bar counter, but the crowning experience was a talk given by an eighty-year old lady. Maya Angelou stole my heart with her character, wisdom, ready wit and lust for life. And so, for the first time on this blog, here is some poetry that doesn't have a tune to go with it.

***

The Health-Food Diner

No sprouted wheat and soya shoots
And Brussels in a cake,
Carrot straw and spinach raw,
(Today, I need a steak).

Not thick brown rice and rice pilau
Or mushrooms creamed on toast,
Turnips mashed and parsnips hashed,
(I'm dreaming of a roast).

Health-food folks around the world
Are thinned by anxious zeal,
They look for help in seafood kelp
(I count on breaded veal).

No smoking signs, raw mustard greens,
Zucchini by the ton,
Uncooked kale and bodies frail
Are sure to make me run

to

Loins of pork and chicken thighs
And standing rib, so prime,
Pork chops brown and fresh ground round
(I crave them all the time).

Irish stews and boiled corned beef
and hot dogs by the scores,
or any place that saves a space
For smoking carnivores.

-- Maya Angelou

Cheers.