Proboscis Prime

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Proboscis Prime

“To recognize bullshit, nose is better than ear.”

--Toba Beta.

For me,               the titan of snuggle smells

       has always been connected

               to food and taste.

My mother baked bread weekly.

On Baking Day,

we three kids would rush

home from school,

and as we opened the door

the essence of freshly baked bread

would waft into our drooling faces.

When Dad arrived home from work,

she would place a steaming loaf

of bread, fresh out of the oven,

onto a colorful dish towel

in the middle of the table;

surrounded by butter, honey and jams.

She allowed us

to tear off huge hot hunks

and slather it with goodies.

The five of us would devour

that first loaf of the week,

and dinner came late that night.

I loved her chili too,

which she would let simmer for hours

while she sprinkled chili pepper

into it. She served it out of

the big cooking pot, and we

would add cut onions 

and shredded cheese.

Simmering meat tops the list,

steaks, roasts or ribs,

cooked on the deck

or grilled in the oven.

The biggest thrill of all

was Saturday mornings

when Mom would fry up

a couple of pounds of bacon,

and a big pile of French Toast

that had been soaked

in eggs, milk, and vanilla.

A myriad of favorite meals

inhabit my recall--

childish choices that colored

my tastes for a lifetime.

To this day, I have never found

anyone who could make

potato salad like

my mother’s.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub