Slimy, it turned around
my mouth and mocked
my lips as I held them close.
Slimy, salty, spit out and flee,
But I couldn’t. No.
I couldn’t.
The burst of charcoal
as I discovered the portion
of the stew at the bottom of the pot,
The Hell for all who burn on a burner.
The chewing gags and brings my
Napkin up to my face.
No, I can’t open my mouth.
I taste a teaspoon of ginger,
A clove of garlic, beans now liquid
And eggplant liquified and
attempting to rule my taste buds,
but I can not spit it out,
Not this time, liquid slush that
Has been served to me
By the first lesson of cooking
My daughter took.
No, I smiled as the liquid raced past the
tonsils and into the stomach where they
held themselves prisoners
of faulty taste buds.
My stomach doesn’t taste.
Thank goodness.
So the bite is followed by another,
gagging slimy, garlic and beans
meat so overcooked
you could not find the
salt to disguise the mess.
The first lesson on the table,
I feared the next to come.