JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

The pot is huge, a witches cauldron

or round a fire a prancing cannibal troupe

yet innocent of these comparisons

grandfather prepares his weekly soup

 

A chopping of carrot and sweet potato

butternut and pumpkin yellow as twin suns

a mound of humble onion and some greens

mix with plump zucchini, pale and underdone

 

Then granddad takes a pair of sweet spring chickens

and pops them whole into the bubbling brew

for flavor adds some salt, garlic, paprika

throws in a sprig of dill, some parsley too

 

Just when you’d think that now it’s ready

to simmer on the fire an hour or two

he slices up some turkey meat and cubes it

sprinkled with ginger, dumps it in the stew

 

The kitchen cats by this time are all mewing

and grandma from upstairs is drooling too

but wait he’s not quite finished – God almighty

as dumplings rolled in his palms pop in on cue

 

And yes soon all the family are arriving

to sip and sup and then come back for more

all except granddad who’s busy imbibing

bourbon, smoking his pipe and chomping on a straw