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

written by Chich, Chicago's Australian Poet Laureate

[more poems] [back to Sean Parnell's Chicago]