Phoebe Wilcox’ poetry has won the Gertrude Stein Poetry Prize, been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and the Rhysling Award, and generally appears at very fine places. Visit her website.
Lunch Salad
By Phoebe Wilcox
Eating chicken that tastes like Welfare
In a cafe that looks like a spa.
This chicken
Is like the government surplus chicken
The social worker told my mother about when
We needed it.
I loved that chicken, in a big plain can
The gelatinous goo
Of life and sustenance.
Was the can brown? Was it black and white all over?
I don’t remember the can,
Or know anything about the chicken.
I don’t know how it crossed the road
Or came to be,
Or came to me.
But it did
And for that I was grateful,
Much more grateful
Than I am for this
Impostor salad now.
In a cafe that looks like a spa.
This chicken
Is like the government surplus chicken
The social worker told my mother about when
We needed it.
I loved that chicken, in a big plain can
The gelatinous goo
Of life and sustenance.
Was the can brown? Was it black and white all over?
I don’t remember the can,
Or know anything about the chicken.
I don’t know how it crossed the road
Or came to be,
Or came to me.
But it did
And for that I was grateful,
Much more grateful
Than I am for this
Impostor salad now.
Love the idea of “Imposter salad” and the all-around realness and mouth-feel of this evocative poem. Not expressing myself well, but I really enjoyed this poem!