short verse
by zkot pen
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Asparagus Aroma at Mom's Place
- She knows I don't like asparagus.
- The last half hour's smell of asparagus
- chaps my nose as it infiltrates my body.
- Arriving, kisses, stories, photos, homemade pizza,
- american breakfast, catch-up, chicken dinner
- with wine (good wine, my wine from my cellar, my collection),
- driving my car after so long, visits, trips to Florida,
- more visits, an occasional check, calls from my father?
- Now, get the latch on the broken suitcase fixed,
- call the insurance company to get a reduced premium,
- call the delinquent professor to undo my delinquency,
- listen to lectures, reheat the chicken (be sure to add water,
- for the sauce's sake), reheat the rice.
- The asparagus reeked for an hour.
- Do you like asparagus?
- It's time to go.
The bus ride to Ensanada
- I hope Volcano Osorno erupts.
- I want to see how it looks afterward,
- to see the snow melt.
- At 2660 meters, its too high.
- And besides, I wonder if it would look
- like Vocano Calbuco,
- or whatever you call that volcano
- that exploded years ago
- that noone talks of today
- that nobody visits
- that never appears in postcards.
- On the bus ride to Ensanada,
- Its packed with people:
- villagers, and a couple of tourists.
- A kid tells me my backpack is in his way.
- I reposition my pack
- I reposition myself
- I crouch in the aisle to catch the view
- I take a seat in the back as someone gets off.
- As I gaze at Volcano Osorno, rapt,
- Another person gets off.
- I switch seats and open the window.
- The scent of human flesh is replaced
- by that of pines, flowers, and earth.
- With my newfound inspiration, I begin to write:
- I hope Volcano Osorno erupts.
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