Tousle the soggy noodle
Stir it in the pot
It’s no longer stiff and sharp;
More inclined to rot
It’s decidedly well-seasoned;
Overly so, perhaps
More than oregano, salt and pepper;
Too many spices, in fistful slaps
Dusty, rotten crumbs, from kitchen floor
Grease, tracked in from the streets
As well as lint, and various perversions
That flaked off bedroom sheets
Along with the turmeric, garlic, and basil,
There’s a reduction of sweat and tears
The pot overflows with olive oil,
And existential fears
The noodle once stood proud and tall,
Looking sharp, in a new cardboard box
Advertising logos, and bright colors,
Like a shiny, gold brick in Fort Knox
Now, it’s soft, it’s overcooked,
Full of inconsistent flavors
And, the intense heat of the kitchen
Hasn’t done it any real favors
The noodle is tired and sickly now,
You’ll likely find it tasteless
It’s slathered in clashing sauces
The ingredient choices, baseless
Still, the noodle is all that is left,
And one must attempt to preserve it
It’s the only meal or means there is,
Whether or not you deserve it
The pot, too, has been banged about;
It’s hardly fit for duty
It’s been kicked more than a martial artist
In the head, and in the booty
It’s scratched, and chipped, soiled and bent,
The handle held in place by hope
Too look at all the permanent stains,
You’d think it was allergic to soap
But this, too, is necessary to keep
One can’t simply throw it away
Without this beat up utensil,
Where would the noodle stay?
This kitchen debacle is a catastrophe
Of lowbrow, modern cuisine
But, a noodle in a pot is all we’ve got
And, I know that you know what I mean
©Kevin Trent Boswell
Kevin Trent Boswell 