TERDUCKEN
What was that smell?
The queen, my lord, is in the kitchen.
She should have cooked hereafter.
There would have been a time for such a word.
Terducken and terducken and terducken
keeps in refrigeration from day to day
till the last syllable of rosemary and thyme.
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
away from musty death.
Out, out brief menu;
lunch is but a walking shadow,
a poor platter that struts and frets
its hour upon the table
and then becomes dauberge.
It is a tale told by an idiot box,
full of sound bytes and fury
signifying nothing.
Ca. 2000/2001
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