Poem By Dr. Charles A Stone
Take small bites and it'll last longer,
you'll enjoy it more.
When I eat I want to be overwhelmed,
like New Orleans was overwhelmed
by Katrina. I want my levees to burst
and the juices to inundate my soul.
I want the doors of my taste buds knocked
off their hinges and culinary skyrockets
to light up the backsides of my eyelids.
A nit here and a pick there will never
be as satisfying as a full frontal assault
on the strings of my gustatory guitar,
or the reverberations of spices drumming
their voodoo beat against the tightly
stretched linings of my oral cavity.
I want the intensity of what I eat or drink
to be mythical, something I can savor
long after the peach of temperance
has been discarded. I want to leap across
the threshold of taste and land in a pot
of crème brulée at the end of a rainbow.
That, my friend, would be a good appetite.