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No 29 - Summer 2004
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| Rob MacKenzie |
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| Whilte the Moonies are taking over Uruguay |
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While the Moonies are taking over Uruguay,
I find time to skin these peperoni,
grilled but resistant to peeling.
Is God to blame when his chosen people
scribble battle-plans and draft rackets
in his name? Does he need
Uruguay? The hotels fall into Moonie hands,
then the corporate bodies. Bids begin
for Catholic mass.
Pepper juice squirts on my wrists, sticky
like blueberry grappa. I regret
trying this recipe.
The Montevideo football stadiums host
communal weddings. Thousands
of strangers queue in twos
like Fiats boxed in the rush-hour crawl,
and my guests will be late. Che peccato!
I chop fennel into strips.
By Torino’s Porta Nuova train station,
the Jehovah’s Witnesses stalk me
with magazines, and talk
peace. The Mormons attack Via Garibaldi,
suits and ties in the summer heat
and still they don’t sweat.
Is it a miracle? Next to them, Africans
hawk cheap sunglasses with fake
UVR protection,
but what Italian doesn’t yet own
a pair? Only the Mormons do without,
wide-eyed and blinkered.
The garlic sizzles. I add onion. The Moonies
plant a flag in an empty field, somewhere
near Fray Bentos.
I am left with my small concerns; the time
to add the rosemary, the freshly
snapped corkscrew.
Tonight, if the peperoni will, we may
taste God among us. And later,
there shall be tiramisł.
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