Baccalao Sonnet

A Baccallao Sonnet The man who runs the small cafe at the petrol station not far from my home, rang he was serving baccallao tomorrow. The Portuguese has a way of making dry cod into the food of deliciousness. Tomorrow he, or rather his wife, is serving fried baccallao with garlic and fried, small potatoes it is important the spuds are small as to soak up the fat and garlic. He is also serving creamy rice pudding, not a pathetic low fat thing I will not worry about making a blood test, needles and worries have no place on such a day Sunday morning, toast without butter and black coffee, suffer no more little man, diabetes, we all has a cross to bear. two thousand years ago there was a man who tried to bring an end to exploitation, he lost, but the fight continues.