Mad Kitchen Poem by Val Morehouse

____With apologies to Pablo Neruda.

Electricity makes hot points to
the lightbulb. Water snaps
ready on the stove.

Pots utter provocative remarks.
The candidates are lined up to introduce themselves.
It is worse than a political convention.

Over there, a pair of highwire artists walking the rims
of cans. Here, scientists decanting the gravy portions.
There the mathematicians measuring cups.

But the knifethrower wins hand down,
a chef in storm trooper boots, steel soldier
skewering the tomatoes,

The victims are spewing seeds left and right.
Sans prayer the plump and naked go.
Potatoes pitch right on their faces.

Celery, squeaking in its lacy garters
pleads escape. No dice.
SS unzips the neat green stockings,

Chops those telltale fingernails;
pares them down to a thin scream of pure terror.
Ditto the carrots.

And the parsley is sentenced and shaved bald.
Whole ranks of chives go, rolling periods.
The onions give up widows' tears

And turn over their shimmering necklaces to no end.
Only the garlic goes out with a curse...
Last seen with him was that grinning radish.

She tossed off a few rosettes and yelled
'Off with the Cabbagehead! '
order of the Master Chef,
Death.