Because I finished my writing early tonight, and am waiting for my totally for grown ups macaroni to cook in the microwave, here is a poem. Please, poet friends of mine, don't kill me? (Also, I like assonance and slant rhymes. Cause I don't want to try to find real rhymes. Also, fixed meter is lame. Er, I mean hard. Yeah. So I don't have it.)
"Inspirational Ode to a Ferrous Implement of Cooking"
Flavor percolating, aroma wafts
Any cook tells you heats best
The frying pan of iron, cast.
Such fancy, I think, and ask
“Why so?” The response, quick, nests,
“Flavor percolating, aroma wafts.”
At skeptic look, quick fast,
offending; an arrival from the west:
The frying pan of iron, cast
at head can hurt, as attest
my head will, concussion bust.
Flavor percolating, aroma wafts
into my nose, and like ships' mast
I bow before time's test,
The frying pan of iron, cast.
Like cat of Egypt, Bast
or marriage true, ipso est
Flavor percolating, aroma wafts,
The frying pan of iron, cast.
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