Every joint has its specialty,
a signature tune recorded in Chicago
in nineteen forty-six, a cranberry-lime drink
mixed by a barkeep named Aurelya,
a baked quail recipe discovered
in the archives of an ancient medical library,
written on the walls of a Buddhist temple,
a secret recipe passed down
from Great-Grandma Nettie, with ingredients
from an herbalist in eastern Oregon,
from a secret stash in Louisiana,
flown in from Kaktovik.
Put away the menu, Aurelya,
serve up your best dish,
make your best moves.
Mike McCulley, Montesana, WA, USA
2 comments:
Great lines, I like the "Buddhist Temple" one.
I really enjoyed this poem too. Blame the earlier lack of comment on lack of home internet connection, oversights couldn't be corrected immediately. We now have the connection back, thankfully.
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