Hail Poetry

Yesterday, Mrs. Apron and I were chatting briefly about my phantom history of poetry.

I used to write it. Now, I don't.

I thought it would be an interesting challenge, though, to dust off the old synapses and try a form of writing I haven't explored since 1998.

Caveat: I have no doubt that the poetry of that era was teeming with awkwardness on many levels. I have every reason to believe that this will be worse.

To Crack

Sugar and wheat
You're far too sweet
To drown alive in milk.

The pirate king
Of whom we sing
Would pillage you at sea.

And then where would we be?
On the evening news, I suppose.

Stay fresh in your bagging
Don't ever go sagging
Stand proud upon your shelf.

And although it is sexist
You're bitch here at breakfast
Even Puffins just cannot compare.


Thank you. Now, to get that taste out of your mouth: go here.