Brussels' Sprouts Stuck on a Stalk

Brussels’ sprouts stuck on a stalk –
regarding which a preying eagle, owl or hawk
would not presumably take interest,
unless it hid a rabbit, mole or mouse:

regarding which I wasn’t sure what interest I should take:
this strange and lumpish fetish was a gift
from one dear friend, he said, “to warm the house” –
and so indeed it seemed it might,

as some incantatory atavistic wand to counter fright –
to sing and dance with in some native fashion,
naked through the night – but its tight green unfathomed fists
kept calling to me to succumb to quite another bliss:

and shortly I decided I might pluck them out
like vegetable eye-balls,
crisp them in a sauté pan with olive oil and garlic –
and then carried out the plan –

and, man oh man:
they warmed the house, all right, and me –
and I would climb the highest Brussels-sprouts-ing tree
to eat more of their endlessly delicious mystery.

.