06 ON HOW CHOPPING BASIL IS SOMEWHAT THERAPEUTIC

I saw the guy again, he was wearing the same suit. I introduced myself. I asked him his name. He just stood quietly looking around himself. I attempted to make small talk but it was no use. He never said anything. I felt really awkward so I just went to work. 


At work I came up with this weird thing.


ON HOW CHOPPING BASIL IS SOMEWHAT THERAPEUTIC 

The drama of the hour.

Workplace tension surrounding

Every corner, so much that it

Can be cut with a knife

And served as a filet.

The knife suddenly is in my hand,

And although the stress is

Served to me gratis on a

Golden platter, I rather not have any.

I turn my attention to the basil:

Humble green leaves scattered

Across the lime colored cutting board

Like sheep heading to the slaughter.

And I am the executioner.

With swift, quick chops,

I decapitate the head of the leaf.

Slowly the population grows,

Turning from few happy peasants,

To terrified masses.

I see the blood flow

From the green veins,

Filling the air with aromas

That stimulate multiple sense.

Wonderful.

Lustful.

Orgasmic.

I can’t stop.

I pick up a tin casket and

Fill it with the corpses

Of the once lively leaves.

My work is now complete.

I hold my wrist tight,

Now tired from the incessant chopping

And look around:

The thick musty smell of work induced stress

Is now substituted by the pungent and sensual

Aroma of the basil,

Which now lays dead in a small pan,

After embracing death just to

Bring food to life.