Sunday, December 25, 2011
A Christmas Song
Actually smelled
chestnuts roasting
in New Haven. Drink-
ing club, ad hoc,
peripatetic. After
evening’s circuit, hit
the funky street.
Hot dog truck:
spice rockets on
soggy rolls with
incendiary mustard.
Aforementioned
chestnut roaster,
their blackening, be-
fore splitting on
a charcoal bed.
Our favorite, raw
clam man, opening
quick dozen under
open gas lamp, dousing
with chili and Mulligan--
stale beer with red pepper.
One upended the shell and
each slid down maw, leaving
sea flats and grains of sand.
This a whacked version of Where
are the snows of yesteryear?
Yeah, but substitute stomachs.
Actually smelled
chestnuts roasting
in New Haven. Drink-
ing club, ad hoc,
peripatetic. After
evening’s circuit, hit
the funky street.
Hot dog truck:
spice rockets on
soggy rolls with
incendiary mustard.
Aforementioned
chestnut roaster,
their blackening, be-
fore splitting on
a charcoal bed.
Our favorite, raw
clam man, opening
quick dozen under
open gas lamp, dousing
with chili and Mulligan--
stale beer with red pepper.
One upended the shell and
each slid down maw, leaving
sea flats and grains of sand.
This a whacked version of Where
are the snows of yesteryear?
Yeah, but substitute stomachs.
Labels: alcohol, Christmas, youth
