An Ode to Brasa


Grand Avenue, grand night out–

Spin me round, rotisserie.

Cornbread cravings quelled

Pigeon peas and an almost banh mi

On a garage-door faux patio.

Collards call for yucca fries;

You say masa, I say más Brasa.

Sangria, sweet sodas, or seltzer–

Simple, smooth, and classy.

Small, medium, or large?

For here or to go?

Let’s stay, let’s play,

And maybe never go.

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  1. Char says:

    Edible poetry–love it!

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