assigment I had to write for Writing and Love
The Fourth Thursday in November:
A gibberishly delicious meal by James Doker
From Fliston and Murbick
And western St. Blummeth,
Converging on Rimberg,
My cousins all cometh.
After fasting all day,
Our stomachs, they grumble.
The noise from our innards
Sounds like bees of type-bumble.
The kitchen’s aromas
To my nose, they mingle.
Distract from my hunger?
I don’t think a thing’ll!
By quarter of seven,
We come to the table.
I sit down at my seat,
Across from Aunt Mabel.
The food’s brought by Grandma,
And the room fills with steams.
I’ll describe the whole meal
With nonsense phonemes:
The first thing I dish out
Is a serving of Flot.
As I am so hungry,
I take quite a lot.
The next dish I get passed
Is a basket of whibs.
And then, just for safety,
We send ‘round some red bibs.
As I hold the vessel,
Aunt Mabel dishes out
Our side-dish number three,
Home-seasoned baublekraut.
See, grandmother grows a
Magnificent garden.
Say yours is better, and
I’ll ask “beg your pardon?”
She grows herbs and veggies
Of all shapes and sizes,
Her baubles and tussets
Win County Fair prizes.
Our main course is fresh clob,
Caught early this morning,
By a schooner offshore,
Despite high surf warning.
The clobschooner’s captain
Has two sons - the younger
Sold grandmother this clob
(Since he’s a clobmonger).
The clob entrée is smoked,
And served with a garnish
Of thimbleweed stalk, which
Makes silverware tarnish.
To wash all this down with,
I pour from a bottle
A glass full of swib, which
I gulp, epiglottal.
Dessert, which comes lastly,
Is smigg pie a-la-mode.
With smiggs so delicious,
I take one for the road.
When dinner is over,
The relatives all flee.
None want to do dishes
(And none includes me!)
While driving back homeward,
My taste buds remember
Food eaten on the fourth
Thursday in November.