Hour Three: 20 line poem

cooking for me is a game of guessing
drop into the pot what you wish, the less you reveal, the tastier it is
sometimes i’m tasting with my stomach cells or my gills
John loves what i cook but America doesn’t
America loves what i cook but John doesn’t
who cares? not me
me
obfuscating the whole business of cooking
i cook therefore i am
who can deny that?
the old women of witchcraft would say
cooking is a balm and a poison
who knows which

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