Music Menu

Music Menu

—double abecedarian

Apple pie is like jazz,
But peach cobbler is country.
Coffee beans are my aubade, strong aroma, AM radio fix.
Dirty rice, my bluegrass wow.
Electronica scatters notes like puns spatter improv.
Folk feels like peanuts in the shell, salty and impromptu.
Green apples are my “body electric” fruit.
Home is all purples, lavender and lilac singing the blues.
Irises swing in glorious eggplant robes, my gospel choir.
Juicy Zoloft-sized raisins soothe me like a tranq.
Kumquats tingle, effervescently fizzing like pop.
Legumes I eat carefully and seldom, like techno,
Mostly while craving a familiar musical cinnamon bun.
Nose pinned, I nibble navy beans, trying not to look glum.
Olives are steadfast and necessary like classical.
Peanut butter is snappy punk with chocolate rock.
Quiet psychedelic music swirls the pools that frame the Taj.
Rap is best with a frozen margarita in a limo jacuzzi.
Sweet tea, my tradition, my standard, my Souza march.
Toasted cheese, buttery and smiling like soul songs, smooth and big.
Ukuleles bring the islands as piña coladas cool me off.
Victrola tone arms skim the notes of big band, swing dance,
While grandkids eat pizza to a garage band,
eXpecting dessert’s fireworks to shimmer and arc.
You’ve got to leave room for whipped cream and strawberry rhubarb.
Zydeco nightcaps end the evening with Dr. Pepper and vodka.