Chef's Special

A poem about the Chef's Special.

S. L. Ganier

Chef's Special

 

 

Moonlight hits the cold tiled floor and

I follow it into the kitchen where I can

see the blur of what appears to be the number four.

I decide to do what I do when suddenly I stumble upon

A mixture of words and phrases that come together to form

what appears to be a table of ingredients. What type of recipe

this is, I don’t know. It urges me to scramble through the pages

as if I am sure to find something so intriguing as to have me

build this mysterious concoction. But I have never

cooked before in my life. What if I screw up?

What if I put all of this together for nothing?

What if it turns into a huge mess that

I will not be able to clean? Surely, I’d be in trouble.

But the recipe is so vague that my curiosity

holds my attention upon the pages and

as mesmerizing as a spiral; I decide to

be brave. The first thing I do is study the pages.

As I study these words, all scribbled down in

quick scratches and large spacing I discover

that perhaps I have seen them before. It appears

that I have written these words with the handwriting

that has been considered so sloppy only I could read.

I must have written these ingredients in a hurry.

I see little vague phrases that I memorize

from long ago. I study the ingredients long enough

to know that this recipe holds the key to

a single breakfast meal… for two. I remember now that

the meal should not taste very good. I remember

it was supposed to make half for me and half for…

 I can see the moon is creeping down.

Once again, from deep inside,

my curiosity takes wind and unsurely, I begin.