Monday, June 2, 2008

Parodies make me hungry...

This one is by RS Gwynn, a Texan poet. (Via Choriamb.)

Fried Beauty

Glory be to God for breaded things—
   Catfish, steak finger, pork chop, chicken thigh,
        Sliced green tomatoes, pots full to the brim
With french fries, fritters, life-float onion rings,
    Hushpuppies, okra golden to the eye,
        That in all oils, corn or canola, swim

Toward mastication's maw (O molared mouth!);
    Whatever browns, is dumped to drain and dry
        On paper towels' sleek translucent scrim,
These greasy, battered bounties of the South:
                  Eat them.

Oh, how I want some fried okra!

2 comments:

Thomas D said...

I like this much. Reminds me of something a Boston-area poet did with "Batter my heart, three-personed God."

Anonymous said...

My Best friend beside me says "that's so awesome!"

I like it, too.

--some guy on the street