We slowly mixed– She knew no haste
And I had put away
My Oster and my KitchenAid,
For her Placidity–

We put the Pan upon the Stove–
Pushed creases– in the Dough–
We used the mealy Barley Grain–
We used the Lecithin–

Or rather– It used us–
The Muse stood– though kneading, still–
For only Countertop, her Canvas–
Her Throne was just a Stool–

We paused before the Oven steamed–
The Bread rose– slowly browned–
The Wheat was scarcely visible–
The Yeast– lost in the Mound–

Since then– ’tis Years have passed– and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first realized that Beth had found
The perfect Recipe–

In the house the meal is viewed,
The steak is cooked, the beer is brewed,
The pies are cooled, the flies are shooed,
And in the dark, the tale is bright.

Some truth is ever what we seek,
But when it’s found our souls grow weak,
The mind goes blank, the path was bleak
That brought us to this meal so crude.

But bit by bit and bite by bite,
Some madness serves to speed our plight
Into the wrong or brand new right,
The power of the strong o’er meek.

For in the barn the old cow mooed,
And on the hay the day seemed skewed,
The day the beast for seconds rued,
The day that turned too soon to night.

We chopped in half the luscious leek
And found inside a snidely streak.
The denouement precedes the peak
In this, the tale I once eschewed.

It’s not a poem to move, excite,
Or celebrate the strength and might
Of those who pass the human rite,
But just a tribute to the weak.

So now we dine; no longer speak,
The story’s yours to bend and tweak.
The beef’s a brood, the basil, blight,
But that’s the food we eat tonight.

The edges once were neatly tight,
As pictures held but narrow sight,
But now our minds are running wild,
And senses roused are always riled.

The content once was naught but food,
But topics soon became more crude.
So bankers, Belgians, Olympians too,
Have carried out their vicious coup.

Alas, the times are changing now,
But do not fret: we still know how
To take the trivial, make it stick,
And make you miss the subtle trick.

Food is timeless, as we all know,
For when it leaves, we, too, will go.
It is our lifeline, spice, and soul,
And now — and ever — makes us whole.

The sub-prime mess and credit crunch made buzzwords of the year
and left the city wondering if none were left to steer
this plane from its collision course and economic doom–
thankless responsibility banks wished not to assume.

For Smith declared self-interest, three centuries ago,
would drive efficiencies of scale and all markets would grow.
But Nash exposed a caveat when life mimics a game–
the optimal for self and group are not one and the same.

Still banks too slow to change their ways remained stubborn at heart.
From methods which had made them rich they wished not to depart.
They took Smith’s words at face value ignoring Nash’s heed,
and stabbed each other in the back, control they could not cede.

In time the crisis worsened and they bled each other dry.
Fell first the haughty Bear, sending economies awry.
The Fed and US Treasury saw stress shocks if it sank,
and gave the common tax-payer the burden of the bank.

But new disaster brewed from whence it started at the first
The GSEs of Mae and Mac had all fearing the worst
Again the servants Hank and Ben stepped in to quell the storm–
decisions left all wondering if such was the new norm.

Now heads of banks throughout the land gathered before the dawn,
as Lehman leaned upon the block, its lines of credit drawn.
And Hank and Ben praised mice and men attempting to instill
a sureness in a market now broken by their own will.

Discussions raged throughout the day till wee hours of night
while Dick Fuld crossed his fingers hoping Lehman dodged the plight
of Bear and Fannie, Freddie too, their chairmans in a fit,
when Hank gave them large parachutes but no office to sit.

And so all discourse halted on a bright September morn.
The sun shined down upon the kings — a new age had been born.
With bliss woke people young and old, of this there is no doubt,
but there is no joy on Wall Street–mighty Lehman has struck out.

But at my back I always hear
The manager’s voice: “Get out of here!”
But yonder before all us lie
Desserts of vast eternity.
Thy taste shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy golden arches, shall sound
My loving ode; then rats will try
That long preserv’d divinity,
And thy pristine state will turn to dust,
And into dirt, my hunger, lust.
The trash can’s not a pallid place,
But none I think do there embrace.

Therefore, now, while thou hast taste,
While breading and mayo sit ere a paste,
While thy bun hath yet to hear the tale
Of aging and becoming stale,
Now let us dine here while we may;
For so my love becomes my prey,
And now I will at once devour
Thy essence and thy nurturing power.
Let us roll thy yellow wrapper, and all
My napkins, up into one ball;
And tear our hunger with rough strife
Through the fast food part of life.
Thus, though we cannot make thy bun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.

Men, we’ll say, are like the seed
sunflowers like to drop,
for only when their souls are freed
can chaos truly stop.

Some have bumps, and some have cracks,
still some are small and frail.
But inside every man and seed:
a core that cannot fail.

Once the thing has fully grown,
the cage protects the heart;
whilst yet the core will feel alone,
it knows itself as art.

Crack the casing carefully
to catch a glimpse inside.
The substance lies within the shell –
where substance likes to hide.

Bite the seed and halve the whole;
let your mouth be filled
by the beauty of your neighbor’s soul,
the seed you’ve pried and killed.

Not one of all the fattened men
Who take their toast with tea
Can understand, quite the taste,
That comes by charity

To he whose life has been a slab
Rotting out in jail,
Whose meals consist of only gruel
And not a word of ale.

Do I deserve this tasty fare?
Did fate divine or chance ensnare
Me in this games of rights and wills?
In choosing now my soul to bare.

Your secrets masked from mortal eyes;
A pastry shell your best disguise.
But I must know what lies beneath,
For truth dwells in your inner prize.

I plunge in with a fork to wreak
Havoc on beauty so unique.
A heavy price for just one peek,
But man is selfish, base and weak.