Forget the frank, the hot dog
Give me the Fenway sausage.
Lansdowne or Yawkey,
Just give me the street, the crowds, the carts.
Sausage you shrug, you the reader
Of this trifle, this whimsy
What do I mean, me the storyteller
Read on, won’t you please.
Peppers and onions
Tease the tongue
Bun and hot mustard
Set the stage
The scorched and blackened piece of meat
Reminds me of every one
Eaten before
So much memory
Of family and fun
Of ballgames, tailgates, and the carnie
A cacophony of moments
Drip with grease
Do you smell it too
on the smoky hot grill?
My lips curl with a smirk
Writing these lines
As I laugh to myself
Of the pleasures of excess
The lusty gluttony
Of eating. . . another one.
==============
edited December 28, 2015
Sausage – v3
(editing version 2)
Edited September 21, 2012
“Sausage – v2”
posted February 14, 2004
written May 27, 2001 8:54am
Sausage
All of my
poems and photographs are copyrighted by Raymond A. Foss, 2000, 2001, 2002,
2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015.
All rights reserved. Contact me at Ray Foss (raymondafoss@gmail.com) for
usage. See all 40,460+ of my poems at www.raymondafoss.blogspot.com
Poetry Where You Live.
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