A Reduction of Breakfast

I am very curious to know if my removing almost 100 words improves or weakens this poem. You are also welcome to tell me neither one is worth reading, or that neither or one or the other is a poem, or even that you think I am nuts for whatIi choose to eat for breakfast, and nuttier still for sharing it this way. [image error]

I made an image with the pieces side by side, but i am not sure if they are big enough for most people to read, so here they are as text:

Onions for Breakfast

 

Chop, chop, chop

But first the slurpy sound of running one’s fingers under the first non-papery layer of five Vidalia onions, knowing you will not get the onion smell off your hands for a day or two, not really caring

Then chop, chop, chop, into the large black skillet, the crunch of fresh ground black pepper, and a very generous shaking of curry,

Jamaican, not Asian, but is good, too.

 

Chop, chop, chop,

Five beautiful red Scottish Bonnets, on these, the quick rinse in cold water and the plop plop plop of pulling the stems out. This time, careful to not handle the chopped pieces or seeds. They will punish me later in the eyes when I wipe my face with my fingers.

 

Actually, this morning, the pepper went in first, with the glorious richness of heat coming out of the pain, promising the sweet pain only someone of puritan extraction can fully appreciate.

Soft popping as the unsalted butter, the compromise I make to keep my doctor happy, though he was amazed at my 118 over 80, last visit, still no matter, enough curry and bonnets and I don’t miss the salt. When I taste it now it feels like cheating, like cream in my coffee

Onions yellow and translucent as the curry colors and the heat and butter cook them.

Just to browning before adding to the large steel pot waiting with beans and hot sausage already cooking.

 

The sausage is Odum’s

I probably should boycott

But I don’t know of s progressive southern sausage maker. Can a pig processor even be progressive? Well, I raised pigs, and look at me, a godhonest commie, well kind-like

The onions and pepper are ready to be baptized with the wicked sausage and sacred beans.

Breakfast in a bit.

 

Onions for Breakfast (reduced by 95 words)

 

Chop, chop,

first the slurp, slurp, running fingers under non-papery layer

five Vidalia onions,

onion smell on your hands a day or two, not caring

 

Chop, chop,

into large black skillet, the crunch of fresh ground black pepper,

a generous shaking of curry,

Jamaican, not Asian, but good.

 

Chop, chop,

Five red Scottish Bonnets, quick rinse tap water, plop-plop, pulling stems.

Careful to not handle chopped pieces or seeds. They punish my eyes when I wipe my face.

 

This morning, pepper first, glorious richness of heat coming out of sweet pain,

someone of puritan extraction appreciates.

Soft popping unsalted butter, compromise I make for my doctor, though he was amazed at my 118 over 80, last visit, no matter, enough curry and bonnets, I don’t miss salt. When I taste it now it’s cheating, like cream in coffee.

Onions, yellow and translucent curry colored to butter browning added to steel pot, beans and hot sausage already cooking.

 

Odum’s, should I boycott?

But I don’t know of progressive southern sausage makers.

Can a pig processor be progressive?

I raised pigs, me, a godhonest commie, well kind-a-like.

Onions and pepper ready to be baptized with wicked sausage and sacred beans.

Breakfast in a bit.