2014 #196

Somewhere some weary sets
of thumbs, fingers, eyes, heads,
alas shall see their shredding
of white cabbage and the squirting

of salad dressing or mayonnaise
and the dripping and in-stir
of recipe ingredients
they’ve sworn to never divulge;

imagine
working for a flavor factory
and hundreds of ears keep
cocked and play plainclothes drunkards

for bourbons and scotches tend
to loosen the unseasoned tongue
and let’s not go to the burger
which has sold billions and billions;

oh how that crocodile could conjure
his habit-forming magical evil;
but he had to get the fries to play
and surely a few fried prophets

warned they’d become Gargantuan’s
blue land pale whale of plated chintz;
anyway, we were three and we
selected the same slaw brand as a team

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About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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