The recipe book from hell

An old book came to me from
deep in the basement of childhood
so deep and so old I
have no identity
for them

The recipes tease me they say
read read me and try to see
what we do
what we make
what we remember for you

But isn’t it the voyeur who
steals glimpses of lives private
and silent?
Who shunts aside curtains of film
and spies?
Who looks and pretends to see
but not listen?

Recipes pinned together with
miniature pin-swords and rust
words clipped and cut and
mashed together like
potatoes made of paper
moulded and moist

As if they’d just been plucked from
an operating oven
baked and edible

Not today. Appetite has sunk
to depths of basement
to the 1892 that dates some pages
mixed with ledger of washing and pressing
for only a dollar a load
and a dry flower or two not to be eaten

I am no longer hungry
except to know
on whose life
I’ve been spying

The recipe book from hell

marchk

Joined November 2007

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A true story…

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