Beat Soup, Or Puns About Borscht That Don't Actually Work In Print

Today’s prompt: “A recipe for beat(nik) soup”

Duh doo-doo-doo-doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo…(cue Tom Servo singing the background base line for beat poetry, like so).

You take yourself a 15-ounce can of cannellini beans, man, and sink the sharp round blades of the can opener into it, cutting it open like the knowledge of your mortality cuts open my soul. Pour those beans out into a pot like you poured out your heart in your poetry on stage. Then take two carrots that cried out when pulled from their mother earth, same as you’ll cry when you leave it, and slice them up into coins like you use to pay the ferryman across Styx. Add two sliced ribs of celery, yeah, man, ribs, like they slid a knife between to get to your heart. Add a quart of chicken stock, a chopped up onion, and one chopped up beatnik, yeah man, that’s you. I guess it was a really bad time to take up beat poetry. Let’s turn it up to a boil and send you off with some snaps. [The beret-bedecked audience members snap their fingers farewell to you.]