— Harry Lafnear
Take one cup of punch line, reduced.
Smother it in Americana passé.
Don’t worry if the roots are moldy
and that the fruit was sucked dry
by a previous chef.
Frappé, flambé, cliché, bidet
until you can no longer bear
starting again from scratch.
Spread it over a furrowed page
and put it up on a shelf
for the puzzled silverfish.
Check back in a year
and beat down any line that has risen.
Soak in the obvious sherry
until half-baked, flaky and flat
appear ironically crisp.
Ignore the aftertaste:
no amount of sugar will mask the nuts.
Rinse and repeat till you’re sick of the scent.
Then just serve the damn thing