Free Radicals

She brought the radish for the horses, but not a bouquet for Mother’s Day. She brought the salad to order with an unleavened joke. Let us dive in and turn up green in search of our roots. She sang the union maid with a lefty longshoreman. They all sang rusty freedom songs, once so many tongues were loosened.
She went to bed sober as always, without a drop of wine.
She was invited to judge a spectacle. They were a prickly pair in a restaurant of two-way
mirrors with rooms for interrogation.
The waiter who brought a flaming dessert turned the heat from bickering to banter. She braked for jerk chicken on her way to meet the patron saint of liposuction. His face was cut from the sunflower scene, as he was stuffing it with cheesecake. Mean-while, she slurped her soup alone at the counter before the gig.
Browsers can picture his uncensored bagel rolling around in cyberspace. His half-baked
metaphor with her scrambled ego.
They make examples of intellectuals who don’t appreciate property. She can’t just trash the family-style menu or order by icon. Now she’s making kimchee for the museum that preserved her history in a jar of pickled pig feet. They’d fix her oral tradition or she’d trade her oral fixation. Geechees are rice eaters.
It’s good to get a rice cooker if you cook a lot of rice. Please steam these shellfish at your own risk. Your mother eats blue-green algae to rid the body of free radicals.