Poetry Dispatch No.93 | July 30, 2006
Skillet Zucchini Fantasy by DyAnne Korda
It’s hard to buy baseball bat-sized zucchini
when it’s December and power winds push
red mercury way below zero, maybe
past twelve or twenty. So when I’m slicing
green fingerling zucchini in tinier
pieces, letting them sizzle in the skillet
until soft, I sway as his bluesy voice
snakes out of my stereo singing,
“Steal away, come on baby, steal away.”
Instead of thinking tomato sauce
and mozzarella cheese, I dream of jazz
joint smoke, velvet chairs, mahogany bars,
and me holding Manhattans instead of spatulas.
I’ve shed patched jeans and sweatshirt
for a sleazy sequin gown cut down to here,
a feather hat and spike heels to prance
like a colt in spring meadow hills.
I’ve sprayed my soft hair, piled it high on my head
and painted cherry lipstick on my mouth
to sing nice round sounds that are supposed
to be sexy like ooh and ahh to the sweaty
saxophone player since good rhythm is so
important to a woman like me.
from FINDING THE LOST WOMAN, Cross+Roads Press, 1996
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