Written on September 19, 2018 on the occasion of Sandy’s birthday
No One’s Stinkin’ Rose
You are my garlic,
but no one’s stinkin’ rose.
You’re the first glimpse of springtime.
The grass between bare toes.
I buried you in autumn.
The garden put to bed.
But you’re the hope of spring time,
of better days ahead.
I thought of you all winter,
it comforts me to know
you’re warmed by frigid blankets,
alive beneath the snow.
And then the magic moment,
the crucial test of spring,
I part the straw so gently
and suddenly … bada-bing
2
You are my garlic,
And I’m your olive oil,
A marriage made in heaven,
united by the soil.
Together we are magic,
No matter what the dish,
From pesto to a salad,
to Aunt Scafidi’s fish.
From basil to tomato,
zucchini on the grill
bruscetta, caponata
garlic brings the thrill.
3
You are my garlic,
the fundamental wealth.
The seed for next year’s harvest,
protector of good health.
Your curves are most impressive,
my fingers take delight
in sensuous enjoyment
your curves of German white.
Your color is delightful,
the pleasure comes to me,
the delicacy blush
of your rocambole.
4
You are my garlic,
the so-called spice of life
There was no hesitation
in making you my wife.
When you detect my breath
camouflaged by stealth
I say without defensiveness
“You should have some yourself.”
5
Garlic is your medicine.
Garlic is your food,
Garlic is the secret
to making life s o good.
Don’t forget this tip
to make garlic best,
Peel it, chop it, smash it
but then let garlic rest.
Ten minutes or so,
enough to let the oil warm,
and with your mise en place,
prepare the culinary storm.
So hold your wisecracks
About a stinkin’ rose.
Insult my garlic’s beauty,
and I’ll punch you in the … snout.
And come the end of summer,
I’ll return you to the ground.
Confident come spring time.
We both will be around.
Reaching for the sun
with tough but tender chutes
strengthened by the moisture
we drink with thirsty roots.
With love,
