To start us off sharing how Poetry is part of my Summer - it was a long day - met the decorator who removed her furnishings we rented to help sell a vacant house followed by, showed property and then wrote an offer that probably has a snow balls chance of making it since there are already 3 offers on the house - she needed to increase her offer over the asking price by more than $100 but it takes loosing one to learn - and so tired, on the way home I decided to stop and pickup a 'to go' hamburger from Wally's.
Wally's is a local hamburger place that uses fresh home grown tomatoes - lettuce, onions, pickles, mayo and of course the burger - no one can make them like they do at Wally's and with the Tomatoes in season the taste is so much more than in Winter when he uses store bought tomatoes. It reminded my of Neruda's Ode To The Tomato -
Ode To Tomatoes by Pablo Neruda
The street
filled with tomatoes,
midday,
summer,
light is
halved
like
a
tomato,
its juice
runs
through the streets.
In December,
unabated,
the tomato
invades
the kitchen,
it enters at lunchtime,
takes
its ease
on countertops,
among glasses,
butter dishes,
blue saltcellars.
It sheds
its own light,
benign majesty.
Unfortunately, we must
murder it:
the knife
sinks
into living flesh,
red
viscera
a cool
sun,
profound,
inexhaustible,
populates the salads
of Chile,
happily, it is wed
to the clear onion,
and to celebrate the union
we
pour
oil,
essential
child of the olive,
onto its halved hemispheres,
pepper
adds
its fragrance,
salt, its magnetism;
it is the wedding
of the day,
parsley
hoists
its flag,
potatoes
bubble vigorously,
the aroma
of the roast
knocks
at the door,
it's time!
come on!
and, on
the table, at the midpoint
of summer,
the tomato,
star of earth, recurrent
and fertile
star,
displays
its convolutions,
its canals,
its remarkable amplitude
and abundance,
no pit,
no husk,
no leaves or thorns,
the tomato offers
its gift
of fiery color
and cool completeness.
