Our poem this week is 'Vegetable Special at the Gate Hangs High' by Tina Sederholm! 

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They spelt it Le Sagne

on the pub specials board.

That’s L,E, space, Sagne.

I shouldn’t laugh,

after all, people in Britain

pronounce it that way.

But I can’t help myself,

I keep saying Le Sagne,

Laying the stress

on different syllables,

pompous arse that I am

after a couple glasses of red,

and a Salena Godden gig,

which is permission enough

to say anything.

And it doesn’t get boring

to repeat Le Sagne, Le Sagne,

Le Le Le Sagne!

These tiny errors happen so easily.

Imagine in the Bible,

if T’shuvah had been better translated.

Instead of ‘repent’,

the scribe had found a word

closer to the original Aramaic ’return’.

Then we would not need to repent our sins,

only return from them.

Like reversing out of a cul-de-sac

when the sat nav gets confused.

Maybe it was a bad day.

Maybe the scribe’s bowels ached

after a confrontation

with his brother,

and carrying

certain judgments

on how some people should behave,

felt his brother could do more

to earn forgiveness.

Thought, Sod it.

Repent will do.

Maybe the scribe at the chalkboard in the pub

was having a similar moment.

Remembered being ridiculed in French class

as they dithered between Le or La

and having never studied Italian

thought Well… It sounds like a Le.

I ordered Le Sagne anyway.

The point is; it was delicious.

Tomatoes from the pub garden,

homemade Bechamel,

a sprig of parsley cut not ten minutes before.

What I would have missed

if I’d let a misplaced letter

cause me to dismiss this meal.

Perhaps it is a universal truth,

whether considering lasagne, or a bible,

one should seek a little deeper

and always check out the source.

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