My Polish Grill

In my desire to understand ubiquitous friendships of our age

That flow from one electric charge to another

Like pendulums dropped from the leaning tower, in acute mayhem

Challenging, both, the gravity and Galileo’s assumptions

I was once invited to a Polish grill

Where Kielbasa was a necessity

Guzzling firewater down the throat — a rite of passage

Where folklores were mentioned in sweetness

And women’s rights sumptuously unaddressed

Where chicken had wings, melting profusely in our bellies

Seeking unsaid redemption from the ungodly journeys they made

Through charcoal pits to our hungry souls

Feeding friendships

That rose like the great waves of Kanagawa

Trespassing our walls and dreams

Glittering under the roofless sky of Van Gogh’s starry night

I was once invited to a Polish grill!