That beautiful, blue gas,
up it a notch and make it hot,
let them dance erratically
on a cushion of searing oil.
Demon capers, pompous anchovies,
salty dogs, mischievous sprites.
Onion and garlic,
and a dirty green chilli from Kenya,
delicately sliced from top to tail,
but don’t extract the pith,
the purest capsicum.
Into the blend, the providence
and success
at my fingertips
as it simmers in a skillet
from Christmas past.
Plum tomatoes from Frank’s,
flavoured with fine spice
from The Trader’s Bell in Whitechapel.
Chopped olives,
and then a good throw of parsley.
And a wine to wash it down.