No. Peas will not replace
this strange desire to add capers
to my already quite exotic Indian stew
God, do I have to go over this
with myself again?
And Live
Get that which I happen to want?
There even ain’t no shame in it, for shame!
Jeez, just go to the grocery store where
they have a whole shelf of them — 2 kinds
And don’t wait for tomorrow’s regular
beautiful shopping; the desire is for them now
And shit if this ain’t the first day
of spring and bare feet
and the children out playing
and Terra out happy despite
a benign cancer near her stomach bulging
and red in her eye
and joy to hear the birds chirp along
to Flaming Lips’ Fight Test
as Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots
As I still feel bad for not working
and wonder when I will give it up
like it’s inevitable
Marching past the children echoing Yoshimi’s
battle cry, their young souls
shaming my reluctance to fully embrace
my capers for all I know
Past the teenagers hanging out
fresh in courage, laughing smiles
at one another as they embrace
awkward, vulnerable, vibrant youth
I taste one
salty; almost grimmacingly bitter
How many capers? How many capers?
1, 2, 3
Fuck it. Stop counting. Keep going.
My intuition will tell me
And if I don’t just cover it with ’em
Add black pepper and a crush of bay leaf.
Add black pepper and a crush of bay leaf?
Add black pepper and a crush of bay leaf.
OK.
You will need a smidge more rice.
Really. OK.
I load up my plate up
hear my roommate in his bedroom
loitering, lounging, laughing with his fiancée
as I go out to witness the dusk of a beautiful day
and the slightest dusting of spring
tears have anointed my table
I wipe the seat and as I eat
any evidence of wet is vapors
And, no, those capers are not bitter tasting
they fit perfect, well: smashing
and, hmm, maybe not enough rice
ah, no, just just enough
I needn’t have thought