Food Poem

After the bread rose and the beef brined and water froze
in fist-size blocks of ice. After eight-minute
eggs and the flaky falling-apart crust of a rhubarb pie.
After olives after almonds after anchovies. After baguettes,
a plate of cheese, every seasonal berry smashed into jam
and dripped down the fronts of shirts. After more please

People on couch
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