Dance of the Lettuce Fan

…we live on the expectant edge, dear
Senator, rich in milk that flows freely
from the world's bitter insults.  Come, take
of our gentle opium, refreshing and cool, which
so delighted Emperor Augustus, he built
an altar to it.   Ah, here's your Ruby Red.  Nearly
always eaten raw and slow to bolt, see
how leisurely she relinquishes
each leaf, each translucent hint
of her tender core.  Don't
you find she agitates the very air?  Now,
the music of the finale, as one frilled fan flies
after another, until a single leaf
remains, its blushed rim rippling,
and then that too, like an eyelid aroused,
slips away. 

First Published in Prairie Schooner Winter 2005