(parody of Andrew Marvel, “To His Coy Mistress”)

Had you a larger fleshy part
This pond would be my shopping cart.
I’d quit my job and live in ease
While I collected recipes.
I’d file them, and my list would span
From Bobby Flay to Jacques Pepin:
Exotic, simple, locavore
Thai, French, fresh, fusion, thermidor.

I’d bait my hook and cast my line
Then start to chill a little wine.
I’d lay you flat between my thumbs
And sprinkle you in panko crumbs,
Then as you sizzled in the pan
I’d season you with some cayenne
While heating slowly, turning twice,
And serve you on a bed of rice.

“Oh, no!” you cry. “You’d never dish
Up supper from a trophy fish!”
Don’t get your dorsal in a bunch.
We can’t make love; we can’t make lunch.
Your beauty costs too much a pound—
I’ll have to watch you swim around.

————

A Seattle native, Gary Mesick spent some time as an infantry officer, and he now works in aerospace analytics. His poetry has appeared in Parody, North American Review, New American Writing, and elsewhere. General Discharge (Fomite Press, 2019) is his recent book of poetry.