Tonight, we’ll slice them down the middle,
Fry the halves in searing virgin olive oil,
Toss them with the cherry tomatoes
And feed the hungry hardworking men.
We’ll be ruthless with the sprouts.
But that’s not to say we won’t first be tender,
As we gently part the parental leaves
To peek at the stalk below,
And check if they’re awake yet
In the golden morning glow.