A.G.E's Joint

  "Honey? I'm going to Kroger. Do you need anything?" "Pick up some cream and butter. I'm making chicken pie and I'm out." "How about a pie crust?" "Got that from the quiche we made last week. Let me check something. Chicken Broth, check. Canned fried onions, check. Salt...Pepper.." "What if they have 'Fish Heads' on sale?" "I hate that song." "I know. Be back in a sec."

  I got an intergalactic call The helmeted one wanted to brunch With biscuits the size of his head Meet me in Taylor Square, Savannah, my friend An old hole in the wall hidden by Spanish Moss The greeter sings you to your seat While Louie rings through the Muzak. There's an old bookstore across the street Where we will work off the meal And find angels in the architecture.

  Red Fruit On white plates Eaten by tiny hands Band singing together An American tune As blue and yellow bombs Eplode overhead

 Morning 4 scoops Quart of water Eight Minutes One sausage patty One egg One teaspoon of Tupelo Honey One waffle Let's start the day/ 

The tomatoes were beautiful. The piece itself was a rather stark, consisting of only a wicker basket on plank with dark gradient background. But, tomatoes were the color of arterial blood.   They looked like Easter eggs that had been set out for Good Friday.   The time and care the artist used in selecting the palette was obvious.   It was almost unworldly. In all her years studying and teaching painting, Mary had never seen an image quite like it.   And it was making her hungry.     Food, wine and celebration shouted from the walls of every building in the village.     Mangia!    Mangia! Invitations to dinner were shouted from house to house in that odd Tuscan accent.   Everyone was family and they embraced every night, unlike Upper Saddle River where other people looked like threats. Romantic warmth rose in her for the first time in years.   Too bad Michael wasn’t with her to enjoy it.   His meetings were ...