Chili

I always start with tomatoes,
I don't really know why,
They drip all over the counter.

Maybe thats why I use a bowl,
And then they sit off to the side.

Around this point I start thinking.

I'll put on music
My head will bob,
But I'm not really paying attention.

My mind might note my knife,
As it cuts through another pepper,
Catching me,
Before I cut to my bones.
But maybe I'm thinking about you,

I'll hold my hand above my head,
And get a goddamn band-aid.

Jalepino or some other hot pepper,
Don't really know which
Contributes what flavour,
But I include them both anyhow.
I'm a creature of habit,
And scotch drinking ritual,
Then again you probably already know that.

I think its around the onions where
I realize how much of a chore
Cutting vegetables really is.
Though garlic is no easier really,
And you probably know, how much
I like a woman that loves it.

It's probably the tears.

Crying is weird.

I hate onions.

So the base simmers in oil,
Olive oil,
extra virgin-
I love the stuff.
It means it's time for the meat,
Always two kinds really,
Something ground up,
And something tangible,
Like sausage or prosciutto
I only vary on the details.

Everything is tossed into the pot
And I slather it in spices that,
You probably wouldnt' like.
It looks delicious really,
I'm almost saddened by it.
Because I could almost eat it now.

I'll put it in the oven anyhow.
It can always simmer,
Quite a long time more.