It's just poetry, it won't bite

To My Breakfast: An Ode to the Sense of Taste


03.29.17 Posted in today's words by

Max Reif’s most recent poem to appear here was “To A River, From the Window of Flight 1914” (February 2017)

To My Breakfast: An Ode to the Sense of Taste
By Max Reif

This morning it’s egg whites,
corn meal and salt,
cooked up in the microwave.

We who are prone
to obesity often
disparage the act of eating,

but I tell you:
the taste of corn
is immortal!

It deserves a place
next to Mozart
and Shakespeare.

Can we speak
the word “universal”
and not mention it?

Or coffee:
there is a place for it, too,
surely, in the palace
of platonic forms.

I could go on:
chocolate
cardamom
spaghetti.

A literature professor
once told our class,
“Huysmans, the novelist,
tried to create
an actual *symphony*
of taste, but it was
judged unsuccessful.”

Yet the notes,
the elements
are there.

We who are prone
to obesity have only
one tiny flaw

When memory
does not suffice
to recall a taste,

we invoke
the culinary translation
of music’s “encore”

and shout,
“More!”



4 Responses to “To My Breakfast: An Ode to the Sense of Taste”

  1. H. Larew says:

    The taste of corn is, yes, immortal. And this poem is fine.

    HGL

  2. Frank Adams says:

    A delightful poem, enjoyable and fun. Just what I needed on a rainy morning. Thank you.

  3. We can’t help what we love. The urge takes over.

  4. […] Max Reif’s most recent poem to appear here was “To My Breakfast: An Ode to the Sense of Taste” (March 2017) […]

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