Bon Appetit

< Inguri



Mom,
Are you ready my breakfast pancakes
from a sharp
pity sauce and astringent sky
guilt It showed how to blow on hot,
scolded for joy, mischief
and they also laughed

A lunch
thin girl came with a scythe,
He looks through me like Blind,
He says from now on I will be with you forever,
and began handing out laughing toothless
food parcels.
Mom,
Looking at her, I do not eat out of fear - I zhru
everything that gets in your mouth, without distinction:
the plate stupidity floats
soup compassion
with meatballs of hope
whether on the global salvation of the universe,
whether on a local personal pleasure,
and my mind is torn between a coward.
I washed down with a compote of weakness,
not feeling really taste,
without worrying about
digestion eagerly choke cloying sweetness
pies with musk - so bezyskusen hunger, Mother
! to satisfy his selfish

By mid-morning snack, I still became a foodie:
I feel good and delicacy foie gras sushi
and just the juice from the heart of fresh and ripe pears
I read out the brandy modern novel,
without getting drunk, as before, from his illusions,
I am waiting anxiously and thankfully
rare crumbs cookie wisdom.
I'm getting ready, when I will have to submit a duck,
a friend of mine - I call Barbara - slowly, to the beat of my breathing, said
the remaining minutes before the reckoning

Mom.
You're already there, where you do not expect from the news,
but I remember you from habit,
flicking the ash from the tip of a spicy cigar,
that lit up from the last match.
Dinner is served on too much bone - six table room, unadorned by Mary
and my sweet and very very close Barbara
winks - say, more
? He finished his, I smile, throwing behind the bar:
 - Please bring schё ...