Ode to Celery

Pale charm

and difficult

taste:

you have

been so often

misused, and

found among the wrong kind and at the wrong time

of year, too. You should be

dirty and rich –

prized savoury root

blackened

by dark Fenland

minerals – in Winter

only.

 –

I like you

soft and tender from

slow heat,

buried under

thickened white liquid,

flecked

with shards of hardened, salty

fermented milk

– of some type or other  –

and then scorched, by

hot metal bars.

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