Crepe Haikus
Sweet batter falls slow
into a hot, buttered pan
as it starts to cook.
The first are broken
but just the first four or five
pour le chien, they say.
The bottom crispy
but not burnt,
unified as one.
They stack so nicely
falling out of the skillet
onto a cold plate.
Toppings are smothered
whipped cream, nutella, lemon
covers the soft disk.
Like eating a cloud,
a crepe is a velvet trap.
You can’t just eat one.
Softy
I break down
to the soft creaminess,
to the flavors of sugar and cream
and the chill my body feels.
I give in
to the crunchy cone
with a magic middle.
Soft serve gets the best of me
with its memories of summer
and better times.
Slithering out of the metal machine
curling up
just right with a point at the top.
Vanilla,
simply sweet
a basic flavor
an institution of society
Twisting just right
the juxtaposition of color
and flavor
and feeling
half and half
chocolate and vanilla.
Wonderment of a soft serve
resisting is futile
but it is never bad
and will always be good
always.
No comments:
Post a Comment