Cooking Pot (Poetry)

Small shards discovered, jigsawed into shape,
reveal the ancient, charcoal-streaked remains
of what was once a cooking pot, unwashed,
the culinary residue congealed -
some long-dead diners' cold, discarded scraps.

The caked-on mass chipped free, a sample scrape,
when analysed, discloses wholemeal grains
and microscopic pollen, crudely mashed
into a doughy lump, each layer peeled
like strata, every contour scanned and mapped.

The recipe unravelled, crumb by crumb,
gives clues to lifestyle, tells a cosy tale
of kitchencraft - the rapt historian
creates romantic theories that appeal
about the chef who cooked this basic fare.

Was he some gourmet prototype among
a herd of grazers, eager to regale
on food prepared to satisfy a man
whose tastebuds craved this rough and ready meal
left sticking to a piece of earthenware?

And did he, when the compliments were done,
explain his recipe and pass it on?