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More poems by Philip ParadisPhilip Paradis | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments (3) | Books by Philip ParadisBooks by Philip Paradis

Bean Soup, Or A Legume Miscellany

Philip Paradis

Nobody there is that doesn't love a bean. 
If not the royal Navy bean, then the wax bean, 
the soybean, the green bean, the black bean—the 
pot is large, it contains multitudes—white bean, 
pink bean, small red bean, the lowly pinto, the 
lovely lentil—let the lamp affix its bean—or 
the walnut-shaped garbanzo, large lima bean, baby lima, 
(A reunion of the Bean families is here assembled), 
the cranberry bean, white kidney bean, northern bean, 
or their      ed cousins: green split pea, yellow 
split pea, and ol' blackeye. A lineup 
of likely legumes. Gather ye bean-pods 
while ye may. Go and catch a falling bean 
and if you catch one, let me know. 
A man and a woman are one. A man and a woman 
and a bean are one, or two, or three. 

The beans I mean, no one has seen them made 
or heard them made, but at supper-time 
we find them there. Come live with me, 
and eat some beans and we will love 
within our means. One could do worse 
than be an eater of beans. 

Shall I compare thee to a summer's bean? 
Thou art more lovely and more temperate. 
Had we but world enough, and time, 
this coyness, Lady, were no crime. 
But, at my back, I always hear 
a pot of beans bubbling near. 

Mark but this bean, and mark in this, 
how little that which thou deny'st me is. 
An aged bean is but a paltry thing. 
I must lie down where all ladders start, 
in the foul rag-and-bean shop of the heart. 
O my love is like a red, red bean, 
that's newly picked in June: 
O my love is like a pinto bean, 
that's truly cooked at noon. 

So much depends upon a red kidney 
bean. You might ask, Do I dare 
to eat a bean? Dry beans can harm no one. 
They remind us of home sweet home, 
home on the range, 
home where the heart is. 
Without expecting anything in return, 
they give us protein, zip, and gas. 
Add what you will—onion, tomatoes, red 
pepper, chili powder, juice of lemon, 
salt & pepper to taste. Add ham 
hocks, bring to a boil, simmer slowly. 
Call your friends, serve with 
panache,      ers, and green salad. 

How do I cook them? Let me count the ways—
boiling, steaming, frying, baking. 
And if these verses may thee move, 
Sweet Lady, come live with me 
and be my love. And if this fare 
you disapprove, come live with me 
and please be my cook.

Anonymous submission.

Added: 16 Feb 2003 | Last Read: 4 Dec 2020 12:26 AM | Viewed: 5053 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/7849/ | Viewed on 3 December 2020.
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