“Ode on a gas grill”
Thou still unravished bride of deliciousness,
Thou foster child of joy and good time,
R2D2 version 2007, who canst thus cook
A zucchini more sweetly than our oven:
What olive oil soaked taste haunts about thy shape now
Of vegetables or meat, or of both,
In Bushwick or the dales of Gramercy?
What men or gods took you? Why the urge to grill?
What mad hunger? What struggle to party?
What music and hipsters? Why the need to steal?
When old oven shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of another rooftop
Than ours, a friend to bohemian, to whom thou say’st,
"food is truth, truth food," - that is all
Ye know in brooklyn, and all ye need to know.
(a rework of Ode on a Grecian Urn by John Keats, after our grill was stolen from our rooftop)