Reading a post on the Blind Pig today reminded me of this light verse I wrote recently. What do you think of real butter vs. margarine?
ODE TO REAL BUTTER
No margarine or simulated spread
can match your taste dissolving on my tongue,
spread over crisp hard rolls,
seeping into crannies of my English muffins,
melting into steaming morning grits.
When I was a kid, you came like magic,
from milk fresh-squeezed from Jerseys,
skimmed cream, shaken in a quart jar,
come butter, Come butter, come butter come.
Papa’s at the gate with a hot pan cake.
Mother crooned, churned, and I knew
that soon the soft spread, washed
and salted, would appear in a crock,
would saturate hot biscuits on my plate.
Oh, Butter, you are the star of my
taste buds, you glow in yellow glory
on my plate.
Like a teenage girl seeing
that Bieber child with butter
colored hair upon the stage,
I weep with longing for you.