On pie crust with lard

Crust the way you make it
The way your ancestors suggested
Lard, butter, Criso could define you
You know?
Fillings, you’ll need a few
After savoring sugary thick sweet
Rolled around the tongue
Lingered memories induced
By mere fragrance from an oven
Across the street?
Hope it’s not burnt
As we gabbed over the fence
Watching your bird bubble
In a few gallons of peanut oil
This day may be nicknamed
For the bird, I wonder
If Charlie Lee Byrd’s classmates teased him?
Yo, Byrd! Play that guitar!
Lard I say, lard it is
They’ll never know
And if they ask, I’ll just say
What do you think?
Anyway, what about the filling?
Lard seeps through Byrd’s music
Shoulda used lard instead of peanut oil
Nice bird, neighbor
It’s just once a year…anyway.