brain food

it's a small pink slab

of fish.

salmon

from somewhere.

perhaps the north atlantic

or the pacific,

who's to know these

things.

a wet farm

in minnesota, perhaps,

but i let it rest in olive

oil

as i turn the burner

on.

i season it lightly.

i laugh when i think of

friends in high school

ordering fish fillets at the window

claiming that

fish is brain food.

how stoned we were.

how stoned they probably still are.

i turn the fish over.

then lightly smooth a coat of

brown

mustard against it's side,

then eat.