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the kitchen

Date Written: September 16, 2017

a place of fire
and knives,
and of air,
as stiff as onions.
knife marks
sliced, like
samurai winks,
quick across cold
steel counter tops.
do-rags do
dig hairnets,
plump, stacked,
and abundant
like brisk meats,
like savory eggs,
stocked and stored
in the fridge.
deep fried grills,
and copper pots,
buzz, beep and clink
nonstop – 
and greasy
like frying insects
in pinguid dreams,
as the morning
clock, half asleep
and pendent,
slaps a button
to snooze
in a continuous
and the workers,
sauté and braise
in a kitchen of heat,
in the harsh cold
scramble of a grind.

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