another Food Poem for our "Let's Eat" Challenge

Today is eating day here in the Imaginary Garden.   I won't bore with recipes or the like although my pizza made from scratch was the best.  People would ask me to make it when they were coming over.  Finally I couldn't improve on it so I just stopping making pizza.  My oyster stew likewise although that is easy to make.
 _ _ _ _

Golden Locks;
finds herself some food

Once upon a time there were three bears
Papa bear, Mama Bear,  and Baby Bear
Papa Bear had cooked himself a very fine Pastrami Sandwich.  
He tried tasting his sandwich but it was
way too hot to eat

Mama Bear made herself a very fine Hot Salad Roulette
with added goat cheese, arugula and walnuts   
But after tending to Baby Bear her food had gotten
way too cold

And Baby Bear had a Corn Dog and Macroni and Cheese.  
But by the time Mama Bear quit fussing the
Mac and Cheese was cold
and the
Corn Dog was still too hot

O Dear, O dear Bears
my well intentioned near-gourmeted meal is ruined  
(Nary a word about her other stop-and-fuss episodes.)  
And my kitchen is extra hot from all this cooking

Papa Bear to the rescue.  Let's all
take a walk on the wild side
In the woods we'll cool ourselves off a bit. Away they went,
in such a hurry that Baby Bear forgot his usual
slam the door and get reprimanded game.
 _ _ _ _

Now after they had left a young lass named Golden Locks
came walking along the forest edge

When she spied the Bear House open door she came in
She tried the furniture, none fit her well, or else it broke,  
until she tried Baby Bear's stuff
It all was a good fit
Take a nap?

Yes. Perhaps  
First let's see what there is to eat
When she saw the table she knew!  
What wonderful leftovers

So she made herself a French Italian American meal,
took it to Baby Bear's chair, turned the TV on,
and  proceeded to eat.

BEST MEAL I'VE EVER EATEN, she proclaimed!  
Next she yawned and sleepily
closed her eyes
 _ _ _ _

[click picture for large size][click here for the hot dog super sized]

.
Today for lunch I made cheese hotdogs for Mrs Jim and myself.  I had purchased some bakery made hot dog buns, we had a real treat. Ready to eat means Diet Coke is poured and Oscar Mayer weiners are hot and laying on a melted slice of yellow American cheese.   Add your own mustard and relish. And onions or ketsup if you like. No sauerkraut today.

Afterwards Mrs. Jim was cleaning up the cooking island but she complained how messy I could be just slicing bread.  Seems there were some bread crumbs and a couple of pickle relish pieces. I told her that perhaps I needed a bigger chopping board.  She said there weren't any onion pieces where she chopped.  No comment.

Still later while she was at the sink, I passed by her on the way to the trash.   I slowed and gently rubbed her arm.  Softly I told her that she was giving me goose bumps and asked her how she felt.

Then again lyricing softly, and near her ear, I mentioned my bread crumbs (she had forgotten?) and teasing her slyly whispered, "That proves one thing, 'a woman's place is in the kitchen.'"
 _ _ _ _
 - Photo and Poem Copyright,  ©  Jimmiehov 2018, All Rights Reserved
 - I'm linked with Sanaa Rizvi in the Imaginary Garden at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/08/lets-eat.html
 - Jim's Little Blog, hot dog search, https://jimmiehov.blogspot.com/search?q=hot+dog

a Poem with an E.E. Cummings start

in the street of the sky
night walks scattering poems

small whiskey bottles empty  
of their drink and littering for the street sweepers
used cigarette buts
longing for some unfortunate souls 
they'll be smoked until fingers hot drop them into dried grass

the sky is bleak with sadness pockets of gray soggy socks
cast off as carriers
of disease
maggots
dread sickness looms watery eyes
eyes that never see the sun

night is sorrowed shakes drops from the whisky bottles
no sleep there can be
noise
bright lights rowdy folk
heads on grungy pillows toss turn and vomit more

arising from the ilk 
night 
walks down the filthy street  
stumbling on
cracks where weeds trying to flower grow 
breathing bodies passed out 
laying on 
wilted brown grass

those awake reciting scattered poems they find
waiting
for the moon that never comes
coffee houses 
open as night fades and dawn cracks 
wine or coffee 
they take their pick


street
under
sky
at
night
crawls
walks
tries
scattering
of
poems
 _ _ _ _

- Photo and Poem Copyright, © Jimmiehov 2012 and 2018, All Rights Reserved ~~ Alley cat found 2012 in an alley during our visit to Dubrovnik, Croatia (link).
- I'm linked with Sanaa Rizvi in the Imaginary Garden at  http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/08/on-edge-of-starry-night.html?m=1
- Sanaa has posted a nice e.e. cummings poem at that Site. We are to take cue from his last line which I have used as my title tonight.