Eating Chitlin’s with an Illocano Man

It came upon word of

mouth the innards of

The pig having guzzled

The gizzard and imbibed on

Bile that bathed parts unknown

And unsaid to me but passed

thru the other end

 

And the black kids in school

Talked about eating chitlin’s

At home and I didn’t know what

Chitlins was but I knew it must

Have been good the way they

Talked about it

 

I knew it was pig’s guts

But chitlin’s just sounded

Better so it was chitlin’s

Wrapping around my imagination

And squeezing tight

 

An Illocano man once hovered

Over a barbeque pit in Waipahu

And I asked him, what are you

Cooking

 

Chitterlings, he said

 

You mean chitlin’s

I replied

 

Chitterlings, he repeated

C H I T T E R L I N G S

Stressing each syllable, allowing

It to soak into my mind and to

Nullify any forthcoming

Chatterlings and clatterlings

Brewing in my fertile mind

 

And I tasted those

Chitterlings and said,

Those are some good

Chitlin’s

 

And the Illocano

Man laughed

 

Pig’s guts,

He muttered

 

Chitlin’s

 

 

© 2016

 

 

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