Recipe for Trouble
In an empty bathroom
with a good echo, wipe
and slice some young
cucumbers while screaming
at the tops of your lungs:
"I've boned more chickens
than you've ever even seen!"
Wash your hands in a nicely
flavored meat stock
while listening to radio
accounts of investigators
searching a muddy bean field
for clues to the cause
of a major plane wreck.
Bruise some shallots.
Bring the shallots
and cucumbers into the kitchen
and put them down the garbage
disposal. Leave it running
for mood music. Bone
yet another frying hen
and throw her out the window
into your creepy neighbor's
garden, where she'll regain
feathers, innards and skeleton,
cackle back to life and start
pecking bugs off the shrubs.
Then whip up a batch of
really eggy french toast.
Lay sections from a letter
that was never responded
to on top of the hot toast
slices and pour melted butter
over each. Take the handkerchief
of a pastor who's recently
delivered a beautiful
tearjerking eulogy
and boil till gelatinous.
Skim off the grease.
Serve with looter's spittle,
croutons, the eyelashes of a man
who hallucinates nonstop,
slices of peeled lemon
and a glass of port wine.
--Amy Gerstler
copyright 1996, all rights reserved by the author
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