David Kirby: Ode to Asparagus

Along with our choice of chicken Normandie, beef tenderloin,
or salmon Florentine, asparagus is on the menu at the final dinner
that brings together all of us writers at this writers festival to which

I have been invited as well as the generous donors who made
this festival possible, a group so big-hearted that there is an open
bar instead of the cash bar usually found at these events, meaning

that by now almost everyone is at least tipsy if not sozzled, soused,
squiffy, smashed, or blotto, as a consequence of which they are,
at least at my table, talking, not about image or plot vs. character,

but the way in which asparagus imparts to one’s urine an odor
that is not only piquant but also immediately perceptible. And why
shouldn’t they? No less an authority than Marcel Proust wrote

that asparagus “transforms my chamber-pot into a flask of perfume,”
and one English men’s club is said to have put up a sign reading,
“During asparagus season, members are requested not to relieve

themselves in the hat stand,”which may be either an example
of the famously dry English sense of humor or a tribute
to its members’ tendency to get as drunk as the poets and novelists

at my and, I’m sure, every table at this beautiful dinner, one of whom
is seated across from me at such a distance that I can’t hear a thing
she says, even though she smiles and appears to lift her glass to me

a time or two, though when I smile and lift mine back, it becomes
clear that she is saluting not me but the gentleman to my left,
and it is only after the dinner is over and we’re all gathered around

the open bar again that I overhear her say to him, “Asparagus nevuh
makes mah pee fragrant,” a statement which could be a come-on
of sorts as it isn’t the type of thing that would inflame one

instantly although, as it opens a door to a further exploration
of anatomical topics, it could be a prelude to a come-on,
though I decide to take this amiable woman’s statement at face value

as I recall that, according to what I’ve read on the subject, between 22%
and 50% of the population report having detected a pungent odor
after having eating asparagus and then doing their business,

which doesn’t mean the obvious thing that it appears to—no,
this is a clear example of what we writers call the difference
between appearance and reality, for it isn’t at all a fact that only some

asparagus eaters generate a smell stemming from the vegetable’s
sulfurous amino acids, for the truth is that these chemical components
break down in all people and immediately become “volatile,”

that is, airborne, the odor wafting noseward as urine leaves
the body and becoming detectable as soon as fifteen minutes
after one consumes this spring delicacy as long as one belongs

to the minority who appear to have the gene that allows them
to smell those compounds! So the issue isn’t whether or not
your pee is fragrant, I want to say to the woman as she continues

to sip what is likely her seventh or eighth glass of high-end Chardonnay
and giggle and make small talk with the gentleman who is the target
of whatever intentions she may or may not have, it’s whether

you’re able to smell it. Useful information, wouldn’t you say?
Not in a specific way, of course, but because it reminds us
how different we all are. Thank you, asparagus! You yourself

are forgettable—who talks about asparagus besides supermarket
produce managers and writers who’ve had too much to drink?—yet
when you make yourself known, not even Marcel Proust can ignore you.

Some people say the odor you produce is disgusting,
which could mean those people have conservative political opinions,
since scientists using a 25-item disgust sensitivity survey

have correlated participants’ aversion to hot-button issues
like abortion rights and same-sex marriage to positive responses
to such sample items on the survey as “Even if hungry,

I would not drink a bowl of my favorite soup had it been stirred
by a used but thoroughly washed flyswatter” and “It would
bother me tremendously to touch a dead body,” although

these same scientists are quick to assert that while a low disgust
threshold is an indicator of conservative values, having conservative
values does not necessarily guarantee that you are easily disgusted.

O wonder! O brave new world, that has such vegetables in it.
Asparagus, whereas spinach is a leaf and a cherry or peach
or apricot no more than fruit with a stone at its center, you are

a compass needle pointing to a future bursting with variety
and surprise, with all things counter, original, spare, strange,
fickle, freckled, adazzle, dim. Asparagus, you are a spear.

Poet, critic, and scholar David Kirby grew up on a farm in southern Louisiana.  Since 1969 he has taught at Florida State University, where he has received several teaching awards. He lives in Tallahassee, Florida, with his wife, poet Barbara Hamby. His many books include Help Me Information (LSU, 2021).

Poem copyright 2024 David Kirby. All rights reserved.