MONO ISSUE 2 - Flipbook - Page 43
CELERIAC
by Alastair Noon
The averagely superstitious Roman,
closer, perhaps, to the edge
than we are, thought it the veg
of death, a really bad omen,
confusing its leaves with parsley.
The mediaeval cloister kraut
tried to breed its bitterness out:
for several centuries, it was ghastly.
Rough as a sports hall rope,
cratered as vegetables go,
its gravity too low
to even form a globe
and make its name as a moon.
Are those canals that mottle
the knobbly hypocotyl,
root that the spade has hewn?
For the German soup, the holy threesome
together with carrot and leek.
For the Chinese, that it should reek
of vinegar stands to reason.
Inhale the scent of the phthalide.
What once was known to be bitter
now eases the way to the shitter.
Come to my knife, I cried.
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