I love the aroma of out door barbecues cooking as I walk through RV Parks and of course there'll be a lot of it going on this week at resorts all over North America this weekend...A good friend of mine, who passed away at a too young age wrote this poem and sent it to me...Thought you might get a kick out of it..

July is National Hot Dog Month

The gentle Frank all red and white,
I love it with all my soul,
It gives me meat with all its might,
to eat upon a roll

I do not like green egss and ham,
for Im a foot long Hot dog fan
Dont call me shy or call me ficklle,
I love these things, but hold the pickle.

I love them at a baseball game,
Wtihout them, its just not the same
Ill take two in the seventh inning,
was that a hit? and say, whos winning?

Hes shouting, Get your red hots here!
Ah, red hots....and an ice cold beer.
These box seats give you all the perks,
Hey pass me three dogs with the works

I once sat near a group of nuns,
who blushed when I revealed my buns.
Care for a wiener?, I casually said.
They moved away, their faces red.

In New York, they're served with sauerkraut.
But Ketchup? Yuck, please leave it out.
One Chicago style is what I need.
You know, the buns are poppyseed.

The Franks the friend of every man
Proud, modest, sly, or snooty,
Its curve is pure American,
And full of eating beauty.

A hot dog and a side of beans,
THATs what hearty eating means,
Without them life would be quite hellish,
Ill be right back, were out of relish.

(A REALLY DRAMATIC MUSIC BED MIGHT BE KINDA SWELL)

(With great memories of Kevin Kitchens)