Ode to Chicken Pot Pie
I pray for that first snow
where it’s laid on thick
and they start talking about how there’s a shortage of salt
I’m not listening while you’re complaining about the cold
or the office is not closed this and the subway is not running that
there’s no waiting in the food lines for me
I don’t care if there’s nothing in the cupboards tomorrow
when the power’s out and the pipes are frozen.
Don’t even bother giving me that menu
I want the chicken pot pie
Extra time to heat up?
I expected nothing less.
The molten dish better be capable of
setting my mouth aflame.
But I’m not an amaterur
I know how to crack the crust with the oversized spoon.
I’ve practiced the patience it takes to hold back
Savor the simmer
By letting it breath
Open it up and let it breath
Of course I’m going to rush the first bite
Practice is not perfection
But that first bite is
an overwhelming, rolling, thunderous flavor
of molten deliciousness
Nevermind the burn