The Chef


I’ve made sandwiches
So bad-ass
They’ll rob you at knifepoint
Vichyssoise so smooth
It could talk
A nun into the sack
I’ve served duck confit
Dripping with
The tears of an angel
Dover sole, nuanced
Viagra for the soul!
The two-faced Janus,
The critic
Smiles right to your face
But hurls invective
Like vomit,
Bilious opinions
At least I create,
Reviews are
Empty, ball-less, wordplay
And I’M the asshole?
Love my crew
Even my dishwasher
Carlos busts his ass,
No sick days
For the past seven years
Nothing but respect
For that guy,
For that fucking wetback
They sent a plate back?
The fucking arrogance
of the uninformed,
Tin palates
With no sense to savor

3 thoughts on “The Chef

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