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For A Cook - Poem by Craig Arnold

What I remember most is what he did to the couple
who sent his best pasta back to the kitchen,
pronouncing it "too thin." Capers and kalamata
olives tossed with squid-ink angelhair
salty, he used to say, as sweat on a black man's cock. He said this often, not only to shock:
food should be made with love,
and love to him was sweat,
saliva, tears. What do they want from me?
he muttered, adding an egg, more Parmesan, a
pint of heavy cream, and tossed it all together,
the straw-yellow sauce stringy with albumen,
thickened with semen as an afterthought.
Now he is dead. I write the recipe of all
of him that's still out there in circulation:
tips of fingers and knuckles, pared away to scars
by the big knives, carelessly julienned
together with the root vegetables, the stray chips
of thumbnail, here and there a curled black hair,
spit hissing in a skillet, a drop of blood in the sauce,
the oil of his hand glazing the dough.

The Health-Food Diner - Poem by Maya Angelou

 The Health-Food Diner
No sprouted wheat and soya shoots
And Brussels in a cake,
Carrot straw and spinach raw,
(Today, I need a steak).

Not thick brown rice and rice pillow
Or mushrooms creamed on toast,
Turnips mashed and parsnips hashed,
(I'm dreaming of a roast).

Health-food folks around the world
Are thinned by anxious zeal,
They look for help in seafood kelp
(I count on breaded veal).

No smoking signs, raw mustard greens,
Zucchini by the ton,
Uncooked kale and bodies frail
Are sure to make me run to

Loins of pork and chicken thighs
And standing rib, so prime,
Pork chops brown and fresh ground round (I crave them all the time).

Irish stews and boiled corned beef
and hot dogs by the scores,
or any place that saves a space
For smoking carnivores.

Food Fight
Dinner began, silent and calm,
Delicious food, thanks to our mom.
Suddenly we noticed, something fly,
It wasn't a plane, it was a pie.
A sight to see, crème pie in the face,
Chaos erupted, it was a race.
Salads, chicken, and lots of rice,
Hilarious food fight , with plenty of spice.
Grandpa received food in his ear,
Didn't matter, he still couldn't hear.
Mom had pies, under the table,
Dad surrendered, went to watch cable.
Laughter filled, the dining room,
They would need more, than just a broom.
It was much more, than a really bad mess.
A fun way to relieve , some of that stress.
by AnitaPoems.com