
Modified old Halloween design to create something better i think
Ode to Stuffing
(based on Pablo Neruda's "Ode to Wine")
Nut flavored stuffing,
Fruit flavored stuffing,
Stuffing with celery
Or stuffing with sausage,
Stuffing,
Fat child
Of America,
Stuffing, warm
As a fluffy blanket,
Soft
As malleable foam,
Stuffing, immensely fashioned
And filling my hunger,
Loving,
Pastoral,
Never has one turkey contained,
One plate, one fork,
You are profound, lethargic,
At the most, you are enough for many,
Every time,
You feed on mortal
Consciousness;
Your weight moves us
from couch to couch,
liberator of activity,
and we sweat
thanksgiving beads;
your
glorious
winter coat
is majestic,
blood thickens in the shoots,
digestion incites the day,
much is left
over of your mass essence.
Stuffing
Sits in the stomach, happiness
Burst through buttons like a charging rhino,
Hem crumbling,
And belt buckles,
Cave undone,
As abundance protrudes.
A bowl of stuffing, and sweat pants on me
In bed,
Cried my emotions.
Let the stuffing bowl
Add flavor of its own.
My darling, suddenly
The waist of my pants
Becomes even wider
Then the pant legs allow,
My thigh a whole turkey,
My calf’s its thighs,
The gleam of sweat lights my brow,
And my navel is a bloated balloon
Fueled by the indigestion of my belly,
Sleep is unavoidable
Cascade of eye lids,
Smells create saliva,
The magical embrace of the couch.
But you are more than dinner,
The pleasant aroma,
The taste of heaven,
More than the stuffing of old;
You are
The tradition of Americans,
Bread consistency,
Praise of culinary,
Abundance of leftovers.
I like at the table,
When we are eating,
The flavor of a dish
Of plain stuffing.
Eat it,
And remember in every
Chew,
In every fork load,
In every spoonful,
Your mother labored
To fill the bowl with stuffing;
And in her motherhood,
Let the children remember
To thank their mother,
The crafter and producer of the stuffing.





