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Blue Ribbon Night

The sky was burnt raisin,

lightning flashed thin vermicelli trails

like marbled chocolate mix she thought

pulling on her grease proof paper coat


Not a night to be out in

hurrying down path awash

with floating grape leaf shadows

wrenching open door of her

tiny sardine can car, pushing


Key in slot, no response, a silent

prayer, a half swallowed plea, then

engine turns over once, twice, a rusty

food mixer in stubborn dough

left too long in the bowl, finally

catching in a whirring egg whisk sound


Thunder crashes, pudding bowl heavens

open pour their contents on to

her world: road lamps blurring, house

windows pea-soup then splitting again

in scrape-scrape of wipers across

whirling cookbook vista recipes,

traffic lights, intersections, directions

all merging into menus of unintelligible

instructions, confusing as a sushi bar

conveyor belt spinning faster, faster

out of control


Unbelievably she was there, storm over,

pavements steaming appetizing gurgles.

She ran up steps drying off in perfect

vanilla cocoa layers, stripping off her

foil protection, pausing, applying caramel

icing make-up, raspberry lipstick, then

fragrant, triumphant opening door, stepping

in to a dusting of applause


Cordon bleu lady strikes again she sings

to herself as they all hurry to have a taste

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© Johnmichael Simon



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