Simple Food - Oct 24 2021

 

Simple Food

Oct 24 2021

Soup simmers.

A delightful smell

wafts from the pot,

the room redolent

of leftover veggies

rich meaty broth.

With plenty of pepper, a dash of salt.

And as it heats, it thickens.

So on a cold fall day

the windows are misted,

savoury soup

wetting the air.

Crackers crunch, bowls thump

sundry spoons clunk down,

motley utensils

miscellaneous mugs.

If the soup's too hot, no need to rush;

blow over

sip slowly

let it slip down your throat.

Feel the warmth

filling you up,

the umami rush

roasted russets

celery crunch,

quelling your hunger

but still not enough.

In a generous tumbler

cold milk from the fridge.

In the warm kitchen, the glass sweats

so don't let it slip.

Then an open-face sandwich

on crusty French bread.

Some well-aged cheddar

a tomato wedge,

green leaf lettuce

and hot mustard spread.

Then rare roast beef,

sliced paper thin, but laid on thick.

As the weather changes

days get shorter

and snow impends,

we fatten for winter

on simple food

on a brisk autumn day.

A very enjoyable poem to write: all about sensuous pleasure, not to mention a fun exercise in word play and concision.

I tend to over-intellectualize – which works a lot less well in poetry than it does in prose – and so make a conscious effort to invoke the senses. Here, that's all there is: taste, touch, smell, and sight. Even sound: the crunch of the celery, the clunk of the bowls. A more visceral and tangible appeal. Simple language for a simple meal.

And some poetic licence, as well. Because I never add salt to anything. Never use mustard. And frankly, can't remember that last time I made – or even ate – soup!