The culinary nest of delight

I was going to write a poem

but where do you start to depart

from fact to Facebook fiction

from the fact that your kitchen

deviates from the public depiction

of a culinary nest of delight

rather it resembles scrambled

celebrity scroungers of the night

with the delicate aroma

of napalm in the morning

A senseless series of suppers

Would you have chosen the same

if you had known? Blown by the winds

of change and dissatisfaction.

A little goat’s milk, perhaps

some hard boiled eggs.

Would you take direction

from those who would document

your campaign or refrain

from hot sauce and hot topics

to settle for some corned beef?

Would it be a release, a relief

to know of your ultimate consumption?

Sit me up, turn me loose

the proof is in the pudding.

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