Wednesday, October 30, 2013

An Ode to Chicken Kebab


Chicken Kebab is an orange fritter, of gastronomic profundity,
That sends my heart at once a-flitter, in travails of longish brevity.
Sometimes in verse, sometimes in prose, often with a little lisp,
I’ll wax eloquent about how I chose, it’s gratifying crisp.
When on the road two hours are spent, contorted in a scowl,
‘Tis really then that I lament, the lack of a succulent fowl.
There cannot be a more greater quest, than one for juicy kay-bab,
Even the whale might just protest, to leave a piece for Ahab.
Momentarily, I might desist from eating one on Sunday,
For that’s the day I can’t resist, a little bit of Tunday.
But on days that I need a fix, a fifth of a bottle or quarter,
In a dim bar I sit betwixt, a tandoori bird post slaughter.
From four wheeled carts and restaurants, and even homemade pickings,
Even some dirty roadside haunts, where the hen is finger-licking.
That’s my ode, oh little one, and that bigger one too, to thee,
A tale of longing worthy of rum, and a piece of chicken on Brie. 


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