Northern Comfort
Much have I traveled into parts unknown,
like Anthony Bourdain on CNN.
I’ve dined on caribou and Cornish hen
and dared to feed on eggs and marrowbone.
Though scientific studies all have shown
that processed meats cause cancer, now and then
I yield to an unconquerable yen
and ditch my jasmine tea and low-fat scone.
I hear Weight Watchers’ bitter reprimand,
I know my jeans will suddenly grow tight,
yet take the T to Artie’s hot dog stand
and relish every sauerkrauted bite;
then in a last attempt at self-command,
I wash the weenie down with Pepsi Light!
“There are always more fish in the sea”
. . . is all my mother had to say,
served up stale as réchauffé;
and as I wept, my young heart breaking,
other girls went fishing, taking
flatfish, catfish, ratfish, gar,
pike, perch, pollock, Arctic char,
sturgeon (for the caviar).
That was then. My soul’s still aching
for the one that got away.
Catherine Chandler is a well-traveled, well-padded granny-poet living part-time in rural Quebec, and part-time in Punta del Este, Uruguay.