Poem 6: 2/27/01



Today the city is a buffet
laid out for all to taste.
Amateur gourmets partake.
I play my tongue along the places
others only walk.
The street flavor
making laps around the square,
lapping up a slow summer sizzle,
bubbling, not willing to boil.

The drizzled yogurt smooth morning
blended fruit ripened sunrising
burns away in a spicy rice and red bean afternoon.
A thick base background,
music wafting, summer salsa sounds
slice me into melting pot reggae,
rags, colorful hippies, shirts suburbanite white
jumbled in a salad tumble,
tossed beats, peace, love dressing,
fresh friendships.

My boiling flesh marinates.
A woman embraces me
to bite a piece of my energy.
Swaying and clinging tightly,
she releases me,
and sees she has soaked in
the wetter half of me.
To her it is saucy and funny,
and so she shows her wet clothes
as proud and airy as whipped cream
peaking the cheesecake evening,
wedging in between those leaving,
cool, thick, and sweet.


Food stands close and clean.
Tipped ice vats spill streams.
Glacial runoff collects rainbow grease,
remnants oily, ice cream, butter,
cleanses the pavement palette,
drains into the gutter.

Decorations are tackled to the ground
like post-victory goal posts torn down.
Double helix strings, black and red balloons
attached to children, Chinese parade dragons,
chasing, they whip like licorice twists,
eye candy puckered in a setting sun kiss.

Night on its way,
descent of dense chocolate soufflé,
decadence over the taste of Madison over and done.
My feet lick the street; the feast has just begun.

© Heath Langreck

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