Back Row Flavor
I see you on the back row.
Curried skin.
Sweating like you swallowed the
Entire bottle of tabasco.
Shakes like a wild sage leaf
In West Texas wind.
"Caraway!"
You say, scoffing.
Play on words.
Try to bury the tiny
Mustard seed of faith
That brought you here.
Nutmeg cantaloupes,
You think we are-
With our laughter
Over our own
Tragic antics.
Lemon grass does not make
Lemonade
In your pickled life.
Overflow with
Dill and vinegar
Oh No!!
You nearly faint
As I reach out to you
With cinnamon smiles
Of a child who escaped
Disaster.
Clung to cloves of
Ancient history,
You watch us mingle
In unlikely mixture
Of vanilla and peppercorn
Above the oil and water
That will not mix.
Won't you
Release your poppy seed
Romance and
Let us walk with you
Through the
Fenugreek bitters
To Recovery.