The Menu

I went to the farmer’s market without you
But the restaurants had bought up all the strawberries
And I am not a restaurant
I am just a man

Perhaps I should become a restaurant
Then I could change the menu
And serve you all the things
You say your palate craves

Remember when you wanted blueberry pancakes
And I said “those are blueberry pancakes”
And you said, “oh no, they’re not”
And it got so bad you had to flee
Our great love toppled by a blueberry

Maybe those berries reminded you of ones from home
(The sour fruit of childhood)
And when you spit them out
I thought, what is wrong with you
Can you not be satisfied with anything
One bad blueberry and you forget all the good ones
And what about my other luscious fruit
My compotes, the way I zest the lemon and add a vanilla pod
Remember
You cried
Cried because my pears were so damn good
So good you swore you had never even tasted pears before
But now
None of that matters
Because that last blueberry is all you know
And the look on your face as you spit it out
All I can remember

I believe I know myself
In fact, I’m sure of it
But once again
Time has taught me otherwise
Pounding out my heart like a veal cutlet
Do you like veal cutlets
Tell me
I’ll put them on the menu