On Friday I was inspired by the garden and Edward Monkton to write something about this season of plentiful courgettes and the recipes that I’ve been trying out. This is the first piece of poetry that I’ve attempted to write in 8 years and somehow it’s making it’s way onto my blog as the first entry. Perhaps, it’s a good thing. This way, I’ll be far more relaxed about what I’m posting…
One courgette says to a marrow,
When I grow up, there’ll be no end
To the flavours I can be.
Pick – Sweet or Savoury.
Dress me up as a
Nutty courgette loaf
And I’ll impress.
Let famous Flora matchmake me
In a cake, with lime curd.
Tad controversial, I’ve heard.
Chop me, slice me, grate me,
Chutney me, pizza me, stirfry me,
Deep fry my bright, yellow flowers stuffed with cheese.
Or, I can always be a French ratatouille.”
Marrow replies, “Skinny Zucchini,
Do you feel sorry for me?
If, perhaps, and very likely so,
In a season of plentiful marrow,
Your ambitions are not realized,
Take care of your insides.
It does look like I’ve been woefully forgotten, neglected.
My friends got picked. I’ve been rejected.
And I got lazy, fat and bloated.
Indeed, in private I cried tears of frustration.
(Did you see my pitiful expression?)
Listen. Skinny Zucchini –
They say that inside me
When the knife cuts deeply, cleanly,
I will flaunt succulent, white flesh.
Imagine. Me. Baked, stuffed with rice, lamb, mint.
Matured marrow. Mmmm…. Meaty.
Sunny seeds have replaced my tears.
Fruitful and reproducing.
Listen. Cracking noises. Teeth
Eat, bite into my big seeds.”
Courgette and Marrow.
Zucchini and Squash.
You could confuse one for the other.
Pick us when its right.
Ps. But there is one more neglected – courgette leaves
Don’t forget to steam them please!”