My head is simmering, shimmering,
Stirred like alphabet soup.
Letters run through my slotted spoon
And group themselves en route.
A little dune of dunces
Caps the liquid in my heart;
The rising steam encapsulates
My every part;
And between the smarting
And the darting
Of your fingers to my lips,
I take a sip.
Soup’s hot enough to cloud my vision
But I see what I know anyway.
I taste every X, Y, Z and A
Gliding down the gullet of our…
But hey, when have we ever let cool first?
When have we quenched our desire
With anything other than thirst?
A higher power couldn’t taste
The subtle sifting flavors
That spice our mix.
Unfortunately, you’re a potato –
And I’m in a fix, you see –
Because I’m fresh done with vegetables
Because the soup I’m fixing
Needs only me…