First, a rinse under a gentle stream,

veins down to earth cascades flow,

cold water sweeping clinging grit

rolling glints over savory emerald-ness

of Gaia, like amoeba, feasting as they go.

If prepared whole, some leaves would drape

over both hands, an offering of perfection,

but, as we are, pretenders to the thrones,

we claim all honor of discovery and prep;

we must tear, chop and season to our taste;

salt, pepper, onion, pork, even brown sugar

Are we attempting ambrosia?

 Collards, food of a more caring god?

Perhaps, Prometheus presented this gift

to us along with his glowing coals

since we, had been denied ambrosia

and fire’s warmth for no other reason than….

I do not know why we were denied;

merely created and left in want.

I do know, sadly, that few of us have suffered

as Prometheus, to love and care for mankind.