The Beef
Oh beef, where art thou? I miss
you
like a dear friend, and I look
everywhere for you, but I know
there
is only one place you reside, and that
is the hollowed streets of
Chicago. I
still smell your
juices, those sweet juices.
I can taste the bread dipped in those
juices
and the plump strips of meat banged
between those crusts. Oh, sweet peppers,
oh
gosh, I think I may faint as my head
becomes light and my stomach
remorses about
past Italian beefs. No, not a gyros, no a
souvalaki won't
do either! Bring on the beef
from Cubbie Dogg's, add the crinkle cut
fries,
a soda and you have yourself a meal. A grand
meal, fit for a king,
or maybe a drunk and
his Aussie mate. Oh Italian beef, where art
thou?
– written by Chich, Chicago's Australian Poet Laureate