Starry Bacon Night

bacon

Starry Bacon Night

With Apologies to Don McLean. And to the person who made this image:

Starry, bacon night.
Paint your palette red and and white,
Look out on a summer morn,
With eyes that know the hunger in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,
Arranging trees and the daffodils,
Catch the grease and the spatter-spots,
In colors on the marble counter-top.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for cholesterol,
How you tried to set us free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they’ll listen now.

Starry, bacon night.
Crispy curls that nearly blaze,
Bursting flavor with his scrambled eggs,
Light up Vincent’s eyes of china blue.
Flavors changing, too; morning breakfast ne’er the same,
Weathered faces sick of bran,
Are soothed beneath the artist’s loving hand.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for our sanity,
How you tried to set us free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they’ll listen now.

For they could not love you,
But still your love was true.
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, bacon night,
Your heart just stopped, as clogged hearts often do.
But I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for food
As beautiful as yours.

Starry, bacon night.
Fry pans hang in empty halls,
Joyless meals in nameless halls,
With eyes that watch your world but can’t forget.
Like the health nuts that you’ve met,
The skinny men in the tailored clothes,
Their silver spoons; their low HDL,
They’ll lie too, by and bye, beneath the virgin snow.

Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for cholesterol,
How you tried to set us free.
They would not listen, they’re not listening still.
Perhaps they never will…

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About DougBuck

Michigan Lawyer, age 53.
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