I feel like Ka. When it hits me, it hits me and I have to write it down. If I don’t write it down the moment the Muse whispers in my ear, it moves on, leaving me alone and lonely.
So, here it is. My second attempt at poetry. This one is also based on a prompt from the Southwest Book Fiesta. It also revolves around food. The only restriction was to start with (though you didn’t have to use) this opening line: “As I recall the meal I ate…”
As I recall,
the meal I ate was nothing worth recalling.
Baked potatoes and cube steak. Many years later,
I found that most eat their baked potatoes after baking them again.
From there they are drowned with soured creams and
bacon pieces. I only know how potatoes taste. They
probably have no idea.
The grit and stale flesh make my teeth hurt. Its escaping
steam the only moisture available.
Then there’s the steak. Who
knew cube steak was something to be thrown
to dogs or added to sauces as flavoring. Not a main dish.
I thought I ate like a king in those days.
But I also thought everyone hated eating.