thar’s a hot cast-iron skillet
re-renderin’ a couple
layers of the past
by spoonfuls from the coffee can
in my mouth:
thar’s a cornmeal coat
on a young tomato
dancin’
next to buttermilk
and brother okrie
thar’s a sweet onion
new like the evenin’
waitin’
to blister
cut thick like she likes it
sweatin’ in the warm
top the peppered taters
thar’s pork chops
piled
in the fresh salted flour
smilin’
they know they’re last
and they know they’re best
thar’s a screendoor
smoke can breathe through
and a dog
barkin’ about it