A stranger rolls into town
Or at least that's how the story goes
You choose your weapon
And run with it
The only time I get apple skin stuck in my teeth
It's right after I clip my nails
Explain that
Make a story about that
Not as a detail
But the whole story
It's obviously a tale of high conspiracy
Last night I saw vomit on the pavement
In a combination I had not seen before
It looked like sloppy joe
I know that's gross
But it didn't bother me as much witnessing it
As it does writing about it
I don't know why
Anyway, it was kind of amazing
The stranger who expelled it
Kept their hair out of their face
Which is the respectable thing to do
Leaving them alone
Was my kind gesture
And then making light of it
Or at least trying to
Stating, I never was much of a puker
Have you always been?
Well, whatever you ate that was disagreeable
Is certainly gone now
It was a true Mediterranean feast
If not truly authentic
At least better than an Epcot rendition
Where lamb was braised
And rosemary filled the air
Vegetables of the region grilled
Tabbouleh salad
Hummus
Olives
And pita
All the dishes from scratch
All well done
Except the lamb
Which was served medium well
The perfect temperature for appeasing all guests
There was some pink for those of us so inclined
And a juicy gray for those that like it more earthy
I myself prefer to thank the blood
If this stranger wore a poncho
As I am sure they have on many an occasion
We would have, the all of us, been transported back to the ranch
Even though some of us have probably never been
Because on a ranch
This is a docile creature
With tragically sharp teeth
Who does their bidding
But may laugh or cry about it
Oddly sensitive
While staying rough around the edges
In this imaginary frayed poncho
They've seen it all
And it must get confusing
A stranger exits town
There is puke on the curb
And some broken glass
And some leftovers
And one would never eat the baked apple
In the mouth of a braised lamb
If for nothing else
Imagine trying to get the skin
From between the teeth
--
9.20.07
Or at least that's how the story goes
You choose your weapon
And run with it
The only time I get apple skin stuck in my teeth
It's right after I clip my nails
Explain that
Make a story about that
Not as a detail
But the whole story
It's obviously a tale of high conspiracy
Last night I saw vomit on the pavement
In a combination I had not seen before
It looked like sloppy joe
I know that's gross
But it didn't bother me as much witnessing it
As it does writing about it
I don't know why
Anyway, it was kind of amazing
The stranger who expelled it
Kept their hair out of their face
Which is the respectable thing to do
Leaving them alone
Was my kind gesture
And then making light of it
Or at least trying to
Stating, I never was much of a puker
Have you always been?
Well, whatever you ate that was disagreeable
Is certainly gone now
It was a true Mediterranean feast
If not truly authentic
At least better than an Epcot rendition
Where lamb was braised
And rosemary filled the air
Vegetables of the region grilled
Tabbouleh salad
Hummus
Olives
And pita
All the dishes from scratch
All well done
Except the lamb
Which was served medium well
The perfect temperature for appeasing all guests
There was some pink for those of us so inclined
And a juicy gray for those that like it more earthy
I myself prefer to thank the blood
If this stranger wore a poncho
As I am sure they have on many an occasion
We would have, the all of us, been transported back to the ranch
Even though some of us have probably never been
Because on a ranch
This is a docile creature
With tragically sharp teeth
Who does their bidding
But may laugh or cry about it
Oddly sensitive
While staying rough around the edges
In this imaginary frayed poncho
They've seen it all
And it must get confusing
A stranger exits town
There is puke on the curb
And some broken glass
And some leftovers
And one would never eat the baked apple
In the mouth of a braised lamb
If for nothing else
Imagine trying to get the skin
From between the teeth
--
9.20.07
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