Good Night, Chef
Good night chef, she said.
In France it might rain
In Vietnam, in Chile, In the Sudan
It might rain. As you wish.
Happy Birthday, Duck, he said.
Happy pleasure boat ride into the jungle
The mixture of kimchee with a marshmallow hat
Is more than just "whimsical" (as trite as it seems, may I say that?)
How are your ankles, she asked.
Graduated, like the color of the waiters'
Shirts. (They are all men, my dear.)
But this is not a conversation.
Between anyone, or of anyone?
I am too abstract.
This is just a rainy blanket on rainy tile,
Near a fountain they call wish.
Dear Red Fowler, (flower?)
I am tired and satiated and I must go to sleep starting
But if it is not a conversation (you are making it one)
Then let us ponder the fired crust, he said.
There. I am done.
Chef: We will write these poems together.
(Where did the chef come from?)
Haiku for Wishing:
O, largest porkchop,
Look at your spicy ragu--
watch out sparkling water!
your Sauce will always complement Tuna.
Congratulations on your marriage.
To Snapper of the sea,
such tea foam from Vietnam
exists only with sweet Chinese sausage!
Tuna Tartar in the summer
icy ginger sorbet
what a nice complement to the apples!
You will write me a haiku.
Leave it on your plate, after the soufflé, or after that drink (I refuse to define which drink. And you know the one I am talking about.) Leave it for the sleeping duck, for the marshmallow, for the pale, cold tiles. Write below and say goodnight.