for The Whirl
Sometimes, when I drink almost too much wine,
but never quite enough
I view hamburger soup like it is a gift from the goddess—
sacred and blessed with little hot pepper demons
added to spice up the broth that the devil swims through.
With elaborate intention, he burns holes in my throat
and makes me want to scream “Holy Shit” right out loud
in the middle of red burning river of esophageal spasms—
indigenous to this damned old body’s caverns
with its spirits that demand luscious spicy food,
all the while loathing its later rising summit.
I eat it in ritual cycles with generic pink ranitidine
intended to soothe the acid that corrodes my gullet
pink pills nullify acid like Pepto Bismol without the chalk
I wash them down with a second glass of pinot noir
and a string of ideas cultured on this screen
using words lined with significance
a condiment to my spirit flagged soup
spicy soul food
feeding my psyche
humbled and enriched with a fine glass of wine
pouring through these words I know you’ll read
on Sunday at The Whirl.
Brenda Warren 2012
It amazes me that a group of good writers continues to grow and gather at The Sunday Whirl. You all inspire me to keep writing every week. Writing every day in April was a challenge. But it’s The Sunday Whirl that kept me writing once a week, every week, for a year, April 2011-April 2012, and that feels good. We’ll keep plugging along every week at The Whirl. A dozen or so words can inspire great writing. Several Wordlers accomplish that each week. Thank you for being my writing community. You all rock!