As summer humidity turns to
Mist on a cold spring morning,
Cooking becomes progressivily
More dangerous. In this inbetween
Eschatalogical season of already
But not yet, ordinary things like garlic
And onions become window
Panes through which you can transform
Canned sauce and frozen hamburger into
An culinary Eiffel Tower. Farm Stands peek
Out of the dirt awaiting more rain,
And the summer sun before your knives
Can draw sumptuous blood from
Ill arrayed yet plump madonas of summer.
This is nice work by my friend Brent.