I saw the best salad of my dinner destroyed by madness, clothed hysterical naked.
laying itself there though leafy greenness at dinner looking for an angry fork.
Artichoke hearts and snow peas, burning for the crunch dark flavor of pumpernickle croutons among the crisp dynamo of celery and chives.
who broccolli and carrots and shooty goodness of beansprouts sat tossed up mixed in the supernatural depths of raduccio and romaine floating across the slices of radishes conteplating pepper.
who mushrooms sat in earthy goodness with subtle cool flavors hallucinating shitake and button blessings among the scholars of salad.
who were expelled amidst the lettuce where crazy & sprinkling exotic herbs on the stems and stalks.
who bared their fronds to accept the blessing of the sacred unguent only to find, unknown and too late, that the dressing had passed it’s illuminated expiration date.
Fenris the entire time I was reading your “Ode to Salad”, I was drooling, and thinking to myself, ‘but what kind of dressing did he have? What kind? What kind? Tell me now! Don’t keep my in agony!’
Never being fluent with JarbabyJ-style compound-invective (I can do it, but without her artistry), I chose to do my rant in the style of famed beat poet Alan Ginsberg’s magnum opus poem: “Howl”
See, I took “unknown and too late” to mean that you couldn’t tell it was bad until you tasted it and you didn’t have time to get to the store, or make more. I didn’t realize you spoiled your salad with bad dressing. I hope you had something else to eat other than salad.
Oh, and Happy, I understood that he seemed upset about his salad and the dressing. I was just unsure as to why. But, thanks for your comment anyway.
