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 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 that same grease.
Do you smell it too, sizzling,
on the smoky hot grill?
My lips curl with a smirk
as I write these lines for you,
as I laugh to myself, again,
of the pleasures of excess
and the lusty gluttony
of eating. . . another one.
==============
Edited and posted October 8, 2024
Sausage – v5
Typed October 16, 2024
&
Edited August 21, 2023
Sausage – v4
https://raymondafoss.blogspot.com/2023/08/sausage-v4.html
edited December 28, 2015
Sausage – v3
http://raymondafoss.blogspot.com/2015/12/sausage-v3.html
(editing version 2)
Edited September 21, 2012
“Sausage – v2”
http://raymondafoss.blogspot.com/2012/09/sausage-v2.html
posted February 14, 2004
written May 27, 2001 8:54am
Sausage
http://raymondafoss.blogspot.com/2004/02/sausage.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, and 2023. All rights are reserved. Contact me at Ray Foss (raymondafoss@gmail.com) for usage. See all 53,000+ of my poems at www.raymondafoss.blogspot.com
Poetry Where You Live.
America, Family, memories, sausage,
mustard, New Hampshire, poetry, Poetry Where You Live, Raymond A. Foss, taste,
smells, Writing Poetry, Red Sox, Yawkey Way, Landsdowne Street, Boston, Fenway
Park, hot dog,
#America #Family #memories #sausage
#mustard #NH #taste #smells #Poetry #RedSox #RedSoxNation #Boston #FenwayPark
@RedSox #writingpoetry
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 -
Read on, won’t you please.
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 eaten before.
treasure beyond measure, of family and fun
of ballgames, tailgates, and the carnie;
a cacophony of moments
dripping with that same grease.
Do you smell it too, sizzling,
on the smoky hot grill?
as I write these lines for you,
as I laugh to myself, again,
of the pleasures of excess
and the lusty gluttony
of eating. . . another one.
Edited and posted October 8, 2024
Sausage – v5
Typed October 16, 2024
Edited August 21, 2023
Sausage – v4
https://raymondafoss.blogspot.com/2023/08/sausage-v4.html
edited December 28, 2015
Sausage – v3
http://raymondafoss.blogspot.com/2015/12/sausage-v3.html
(editing version 2)
Edited September 21, 2012
“Sausage – v2”
http://raymondafoss.blogspot.com/2012/09/sausage-v2.html
posted February 14, 2004
written May 27, 2001 8:54am
Sausage
http://raymondafoss.blogspot.com/2004/02/sausage.html
