our rock stars replaced by chefs
our anthems cooked into
consumable pieces
the recipe for the Beatles
become nostalgic indulgence
no longer any power to pump
the pulse of our human culture
so divided in carefully fermented samples
watch Asia follow after
the peak of our middle-class
while more of our doors close;
walls planned
vaguely recognizing mutations
of some forgotten recipe or tradition
and also the evidence that
they’ll do things differently
how does it roll on the palate?
does it taste like
new hope
or an old threat?
better, worse
or same, but different
is irrelevant
when learning to eat
— digest — today;
what will be our global flavours,
because technology has
accidentally united us
before we can admit it
with a logic that cannot see
human dividing lines
when we feed so massively
from the same digital air,
wave and currency;
and more than just a common
desire, to live well
and then
and when, asked
what do we have left to add
to the future, not the past –
humble pie not being
one of our specialties
writer, it is you,
more than chef
that i wait
to kiss my lips
with my today
and raise me from
a less heartened life
not back to an adolescent flower
but forward to the finish
of our awakening
mythology, a bedtime story
that was set aside
too long ago
to pursue
consuming goods
and services
© lyw
An American Hero 