Prey that when you die
They bury you with sliders on your eyes,
That you might be able to pay their Charon,
With his hair blazing
Like the flames on his shirt,
Dark shades armoring his neck,
To ferry you into this great city
Under iced-tea skies.
The rivers there flow with tangy barbeque sauce
And the streets are paved
With the moistest cornbread imaginable.
Nobody wants for wings
Or hashed browns
As the might of the fryer and griddle
Dispatches always the armies of the green, the bitter.
And if you are lucky enough
To meet the lords of this delicious domain,
See their spatulas forged of gold,
Silken aprons, woven by Athena herself,
And taste their regal fare
You may finally know the indulgent embrace of heaven.
***
(Minneapolis, MN -- June, 2018)
Great works of art often defy logic and resist interpretation while leaving a lasting imprint on its audience and culture as a whole. This is not one of those works.
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