Where is Don Quijote when breakfast is served?
The hot bread will soon grow hard, the cheese
will change personalities if ignored. Sancho Panza
where is your master?
On the way home there are six wheels,
four stock Bridgestone’s, one orphan Goodyear,
and a crated Manchego elder.
Queso, cheese, fromage, caseus,
higo, fig, figue, ficus: universal religions
for saints and sinners and (those in between who’ve secretly murdered).
Everyone is welcome at Manchego communions.
The Lebanese figs: dark, sweet, and brooding.
Jam frosted against the pale yellow ivory wedges
a still life worth poetry, painting, excess and song.
The knife slices a thick wedge fingers begin to bleed.
Where is the jam, the jam, the band-aids?
The birth begins in Spain, ewes milking.
I discover you in Panama. I am a rat rat rat,
the jam and bread are disguise, shhhhhh.
The seventh way of looking is unknown
the image hides in the mind of Nelly
she is coming to visit on Thursday.
She will play the piano and remember Brazil.
The fig harvest is two fold:
the breba is first, the main harvest second
even nature gets to practice, practice.
Jesus shows up fatigues and sneakers.
His disciples are mistaken for a posy
too much MTV, too much Bling Bling !
not enough Manchego. No miracles tonight
just olives, and vino.
The cheese butter the jam honey
special knife favorite spoon fancy plates
routine limit ceremony and mongers.
And on the eight day, God made cheese.
How else would the Shepard’s know?
This Manchego mania is for fools,
arrogant Spaniards, you say Ole! Ole! Ole!
I say where is the fair, the carnival, the scary
It was evening all afternoon
It was raining
it is going to keep on raining.
The Manchego sits blue china emperor
the jam pleasantly disrobed in a glass
(Inspired by Wallace Steven’s, Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird, Harmonium)
by: Elena Arosemena