TAKE ME DOWN
A NOTCH
Bill on the table has piled his apples. They
sit in a bushel, astride paper bags, as he
unloads these many round orbs. Even last
October's fiery crop, kept cool and chilled,
or frozen nearly, tries resuscitating goodness.
Bill knows, he's done this before - that roadside
stand from which he peddles his fruits and vegetables
renounces nothing : mostly what can sell, he will offer.
-
I never understood the trading of food for money.
Restaurants and cooks and chefs and all that passing
frenzy; such fools of bombast and decay. 'I want to
serve you, but I want some money today.' I'm befuddled
or bedazzled, or one of those awkward Shakespearean
words descriptive of other things. How insincere is all of
that! If you cannot serve sincerity for food, and not ask
your filthy money's brood to help you, then I'll have
none of that, none of Mankind's frisky dining.
You'll take me down a notch.
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