By Lynn Jones, a freelance writer with over forty published articles and poems on nature, gardening, history, travel, and technology. Her e-mail address is lynn.c.jones@comcast.net.
Taxidermy/haute cuisine,
A marriage very seldom seen,
But one well known in days bygone,
At the Kitchen on the Willow Pond.
Badgers, hawks, and ring-necked pheasants,
I found dining with them pleasant,
Haired and feathered, stuffed and mounted,
So many they could not be counted.
 From every corner, shelf and wall,
They stared at diners one and all.
But not all patrons liked the habit,
Of eating with a snowshoe rabbit.
"I cannot eat my soup," she said,
"with vultures lurking overhead."
"My turkey club," I overheard,
"might be related to that bird."
And some can't eat while underneath,
A squirrel as he bears his teeth.
An imaginary altercation,
Of taxidermy imagination.
 The smell of fresh fried onion rings,
Lobster dinners, chicken wings,
Softball teams there often came,
Telling tales of that night's game.
Over mug of beer and plate of cod,
By all accounts it may be odd,
It was once, but now it's gone,
The Kitchen on the Willow Pond.
Photos: Willow Pond Kitchen courtesy of the Concord Free Public Library's Special Collections; all others, Art Today.
Backgrounds: Word of Mouth Web Design.
 
 
|
|
|
|
