The Great Lasagna Feast

The great lasagna feast about ready to be

cooked up in the cold chill kitchen of a

February Sunday.  I ran to the store and

pulled what seemed like a thousand

different items off of various shelf/freezer

fridge locations at Bakers on Saddle

Creek and Leavenworth, intersection

complete with giant Catholic cemetery

and Quick Stop not to mention Jiffy Lube.

The quiet traffic hum of Sabbathy Sunday.   

Kitchen now full of food-scent, savory

sweet cooking smells as outside is

white cold-chill, chalky grit-white

skies and temperatures low enough to

ping the tips of your fingers raw.

And all those summer foxes long since

scampered off to warmer climes with their

narrow snouts and piles of hunters on

horse back and 100 yelping barking

hunting dogs chasing at the fox heels.

Escaping wealthy goblins

and bridge trolls, the careening death

stench across and through opulent creep

                     rooms.

Straight out of Union hall sweats and

election year madcap set ups, these

guests will arrive this evening for the

great Sunday Sabbathy lasagna feast

currently boiling sizzling spitting on the

stove top.  Guest are old friends of

my mother’s.  ‘Were it not for charity /

I’d lay me down’ and during my great

last marital toss-up-divorce

at the end of 2010, these soon to be

guests sheltered my son and I, helped

keep us off nightmare streets and out of

soiled bathroom stalls, crummy cold wink

bum corners and sticky midnight

blood lettings.  We owe them the

savory warmth of this evening’s

Sunday lasagna cook up and

all the warm laughter to be had as

midtown cables hum and children

scream around at our feet.

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(February 9th, 2014)