Reading Jane Smiley's The Greenlanders,
I craved sheep's milk cheese and dried mutton
through six hundred pages and two famines.
This morning, fishing in my video game,
pieces of deep-fried bluegill oozed their
luscious grease into napkins
in my imagination.
Laid up with a minor gunshot wound,
Nick Charles in The Thin Man has just ordered
a chopped raw beef sandwich from the deli
downstairs, with lots of onions. God,
they had it so good in New York in 1932.
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3 comments:
God damn, Sarah.
Your pieces of bluegill have also oozed grease onto the napkins in my imagination. Oozing grease onto someone else's imagination-napkins is rather an impressive feat. My imagination-napkins are usually busy sopping up spills of blood-orange juice, and now I think I have to find some imagination-papertowels. But only the ones where you can rip off varied sizes as you need them in order to minimize waste.
Because I care about the environment, god damn it.
Ok. I can't comment on this. Too much good. Give me more.
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