Food Heaven 

There are no farms,
bakeries, dairies, orchards,
or cheesemakers - the only way
to tell one blue
from another
is by texture, taste and smell.

There are no critics,
connoisseurs, or celebrity chefs
to sway my opinion;
and I’ve had all the time
and choice I need
to discover the foods I really like.

But more and more I found myself
returning to my mother’s lentil soup,
a three-bean, wild boar stew
a lover once made for me,
a stone-baked pizzas
so many enjoyed, ...

But as these memories fade
I struggle to remember why
I like these foods,
and slowly
I’ve started to die again.

Tristan Moss
 
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Tristan Moss would be pleased to hear them.