Den Norske Pølseklubben

Forget the frank,
Give me the Fenway sausage.
Lansdowne or Yawkey,
Just give me the street, the crowds, the carts.
Sausage you shrug, you the reader
Of this trifle, this whimsy
What do I mean, me the storyteller
Read on.

Peppers and onions
Tease the tongue
Bun and hot mustard
Set the stage
The scorched and blackened piece of meat
Reminds me of every one
Eaten before

So much memory
Of family and fun
Of ballgames, tailgates, and the carnie
A cacophony of moments
Drip with grease
Do you smell it too on the smoky hot grill?

My lips curl with a smirk
Writing these lines
As I laugh to myself
Of the pleasures of excess
The lusty gluttony
Of another one.

by Raymond A. Foss