When spanakopita is wet and lame
there is no pastry quite so false and weak,
with spinach, feta, phyllo over flame,
we eat it only at festivals Greek
It’s true, indeed, that this need not be so:
somewhere a Turkish baker plies his craft,
but on divided Cyprus, Greeks say “No!”
(a culture war can make one’s taste buds daft.)
A rice pilaf that costs almost ten bucks
is robbery even by standards Church
The dollars flow in like a row of ducks,
Somewhere a bishop cackles in his perch.
Though every year I forget lessons past
this time I swear will be my very last.
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Call the roller of dolmathes,
the gray-haired lady, and bid her wrap
in grape leaves unlibidinous rice.
Let the pre-teens caper in such togs
As Greeks have used to wear, and let the noise
Be heard of bouzouki musicians.
Let beans be the zucchini of “used to”.
The only emperor is the emperor of ouzo.
“Dawn comes early, with sticky finikia.”