My Recipe Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

My Recipe

With head up,
Chest forward,
Feel proud,
Therefore, write.

I made my recipe,
The one and only one.

I have been to Nazca,
Visited many farms,
Picture the many hands,
Covered with the cracks,
Pickers' nails turned black!

How could I?
How could I?

No, never,
No, not I!

Cannot be like Trump,
Like those junks,
Hudson's in Canada,
Or the Raj, East India's!
Owners of cotton fields,
In, around the Texas…

No, could not!
No, could not!

I could not waste, trash,
Took the rest of the milk,
Mixed with eggs, broccoli,
And made my recipe! ! !

Sprinkles of pepper,
A little bit of salt,
With bread, a slice,
Toasted? Warmed?

Recipe for the time!