J’s aunt Mabel said to bleach the lettuce
to kill the amoebas crawling around in it
but we never did ~ and still don’t
J sang every time she chopped anything
making up tunes and songs to narrate
dancing to whatever genre she picked
her knife blade a microphone to belt out
lyrics like a stage star with passion, bending
backward Bon Jovi style to spice our meal with musical strains
sung to the gods of the kitchen as if they couldn’t see
we’re choppin’ broc-co-li-i-i-i
yeah, we’re choppin’ broc-co-li-i-i-i
M sprinkled sugar in the tomato sauce to
bring out the flavor, stirring as it simmered
shimmering like blood bubbling in the skillet
the other M tore foil sheets for corn
another M talked our ears off with drama gossip
P galloped through the kitchen flashing us all
her boobs jiggling like peach Jell-O, giggled, trotted off
to the M&M candy jar for a handful while
the parrot greeted the cat that sauntered in: Hi, Russ,
shortening Russell’s name as we all did back then
while the forgotten bread always, always burned in the oven
as A stood undeterred slicing onions
wearing tinted kitchen goggles as the rest of us cried
in the days before hidden ear buds
before the games ever started
Common Threads 