Benjamin Schneider

Mount Sizzler

A snake like hiss

danced from
the red hot iron.

Grease showered into

a speckled pattern,
like blood-splatter
against a white ceiling.

A dash of the
fine crystalline
structure, we know as:
table salt.

On the cutting board,

lay a well-ripened tomato.
Its skin; smooth, yet a little over-tender.

Half of a white onion,

pestered by a tear-inducing reputation,
will work in harmony,
with the less emotional garnishes.

Hand-sliced sesame seed bun:

mayonnaise, ketchup, mustard.
Pickle chips and,
a shake of Tabasco.

One may call it a burger,

but to me:
it's nothing short
of a mountain.