Sausage - v6

A short tale of whimsy, a trifle,

a bit of confection, of spice,

Forget the frank, the hot dog - 

Give me the Fenway sausage.

Lansdowne or Yawkey, just give me the street, 

the crowds, the carts, the smells.

Sausage you shrug, you, the reader,

of this trifle, this whimsy - 

What do I mean, me the storyteller?

Read on, won’t you please.

Sliced bell peppers and big chunks of onions

gathered, lathered on the fresh bun,

they tempt the palate, tease the tongue,

open wide the bun and spread hot mustard

set the stage, the moment, for the star,

the scorched and blackened piece of meat

reminds me of every sausage, each one, 

I have ever eaten before...

So much memory, in the tastes,

treasure beyond measure, of family and fun

of ballgames, tailgates, and the carnie;

a cacophony of moments

dripping with thay same grease.

Do you smell it too, sizzling,

on the smoky hot grill?

My lips curl with a smirk, a laugh,

as i write writing these lines for you,

as I laugh to myself, again,

of the pleasures of excess

and the lusty gluttony

of eating. . . another one.

============== 

Edited October 8, 2024

Sausage - v6

Edited August 21, 2023

Sausage – v4

https://raymondafoss.blogspot.com/2023/08/sausage-v4.html

All of my poems, photographs, and videos are copyrighted by Raymond A. Foss, 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023, and 2024. All rights are reserved. Contact me at Ray Foss (raymondafoss@gmail.com) for usage. All of my poems are at www.raymondafoss.blogspot.com Poetry Where You Live.