Vegetable mood: turnip thoughts,
deep pulsations in his trifling mind;
the untenanted scull
shelters no roving rumination,
no brown sauce to cover the spuds
part cooked, part fried, part covered
in lard, oh the lard, the drippings
from the gods’ last bard
need a bitter brew to follow;
to swallow
all
is to swallow
the bitter and the sweet, the sour
and the creamed
the dreamed left
– to simmer.
Vegetable mood: turnip thoughts,
the last slice, the last dice
of carnivorous carnage
chained to the cage of history,
never again to become
– the story.