A Year of Poems – Day 179

We tame fire with propane tanks
Carefully passed through valve and pipe
And the fire we get is tame and nice
Trained to go no further than a grill
To cook the food as expected and no more.

There is an old way of making food.
You stack the charcoal high
And wait until the embers glow
Raised on a mountain, wild and barely tamed
The fire licks across the grate
scarring the meat in a battle
mediated by tongs and spatulas.

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