Hello, Cutie.
Put on your best bib, grab a spoon, and dig into some homemade tapioca pudding. 🙂
I LIKE TAPIOCA
by Bill Batcher
I like even the word "tapioca."
It sounds like the name of a Latin dance,
the beat of the Samba underscoring
the ritual movements of some Amazonian tribe.
"Come, let's do the Tapioca."
Or it could be the local indigenous name
of a tributary of the congo
the newsman Stanley hoped would
bring him closer to Dr. Livingstone.
"This is the Tapioca, I presume."
Or even a tropical insect,
whose bite transmits a lethal disease,
while its genes contain the secret
to conquering the riddle of aging.
"Tapioca face cream, $26.59 a jar."
Yet tapioca is more than these: A confection that puts a spring in my step, takes my spirit to worlds unknown, and renews my youth, when I loved those gelatinous pearls -- even when told they were frog eyes -- the bigger, the better. Where is it from? There's the mystery, unlike the rice pudding they try to pawn off on me instead.
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