Not having much time concentrates the mind,
And I’ve got to leave in thirty minutes.
But, if there’s time, before then I’ve assigned
Myself two tasks: write one of my sonnets,
Then cook and eat, because hunger’s got its
Claws in me once more. I see piles of beans.
Tomato sauce cascades in rivulets
Down cliffs of jacket spud; picture these scenes.
Take off your muddy jacket - someone cleans
Up after you hopefully - and unwind
With an enormous plate of grub that fits
Your stomach hole (but don’t forget your greens).
This fantasy of food’s making me blind
To all but fulfilling it. Come on, let’s!
Wed 3 Oct 2007
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