I ate three bowls of soup tonight
The best ham and beans and broth I have ever tasted
it reminds me of how I wooed my wife, one autumn,
With poems about the comfort of mom’s
Winnie- Ther- Pooh tomato soup recipe
and that in turn led me to ponder:
What is soup? It’s not food and it’s not drink
it’s Something in between I think
So in the spring and in the fall
I like soup the best of all
It’s in between the great extremes
It’s not just food, it’s made of dreams.
So I read it to her, and she says “hmm, kind of cliche. It’s an everyday poem.”
Then she kisses me.
Cliches can work, sometimes.