August 7, 2009

Queen of Trifles





Himself: Swam, job hunted, out to the guys who are hiring, picked me up, and instead of shopping for food, we bought him a new bigger dress shirt at Ross, then out to a salad by the bay.

Herself: Swam, worked on poem, went to the poetry group at Marion B’s where she said the book was }.{ that close to being sent off to the publishers, bought G a new shirt and ate a salad out when we shouldn’t have.

Reading: First two volumes in Harper Hall of Pern.

Balance: A brownie….yes, I am eating over it. Salad by the bay too.

One pint of sherry wine
says the recipe
which finds me asking
can I substitute a gallon of Chablis
or even quarts of Scotch or Bourbon
pretending I am wallowing in my past
quelling my misery
while pushing my alcoholism in Death’s face

One pound of macaroons
It says
They’ll place their calories under my nose
add pounds
more than the mere seventeen
I gained when the doctor told me not to walk
creating this newest morbidly obese me

not trifling with death here either

One quart of cream whipped
will leave me more than sedentary
stiff
actually

and one whole egg flaunts current conventions
thumbs its nose against my clogged arteries
and helps me laugh at the second
or third
helping of those air saturated
cream calories
standing tall over a
custard basted, wine soaked,
pound of Lady Fingers.

Reality is never what it seems
when trifles say they serve 12.







Queen of Trifles, The Settlement House Cookbook, page 372

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SORTING

Portland Union station Work has been sorted, and I’m home to sort my own things now.  I’ve gained roundness.  G says we are Mr. and ...