the hunt for the wild arancini

the wild arancini
gallops
across the driving range

the Golf Club chef
so close behind him
holds his implements
up high

his cook’s knife

the roasting fork

a sharpening steel
held to his wrist
by a shortened length
of cord

the apron flies
a-flap
around his knees

his moustache
holds beaded sweat
while his jowls
are in full motion
and broad wobble

but he runs
full stretch
as a lion
might

the prey
leaps and bounds
more like
a gazelle

across the 10th
over the light undulations
of a two shot
to fairway
from tee

out of a rough lie
the chef emerges suddenly
but the arancini is
away

the chef seeks
only a small cut

a smallest cut
the Club President
will dine today
with guests

but
the gallop
a sustained chasse
of the arancini
wild
wild

wild
will brook no trade

no portion mutilated
be it large
or small

he will remain uncut
until the pennant
waves

the chef sits
sadly
half-sprawled
across the 11th green

the only ball available
rattling
lonely
in the cup

alas
alas
mere batter
poor rice and filling
will have to serve
for this entrée

there is a bray
from the woods
that run alongside
the 14th

the arancini
a-prance with the strut
of freedom
now stops to graze

no backward glance
no moment
so wasted

the magnificent aperitif
drifts
almost vanishing
beyond
the back nine


© Frank Prem, 2017

July 2017 Poem #33: forever

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11 thoughts on “the hunt for the wild arancini

  1. Well…now I am completely hungry…I’ve never seen arancini with the ability to glide towards the outer limits of the always difficult back nine. I wonder what happened on the 13th fairway. To me…#13 is the point of no return on any course…the win or lose place. Obviously the arancini won. Or is the chef chasing the liquor that goes with the cheese ball? One is not the best without the other.

    Liked by 1 person

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