Sunday, June 19, 2016

Ode to the Lobster (I ate for dinner)

Just for fun, enjoy this poem I to this weekend's dinner. This one goes out to all the seafood lovers out there! #dinnertime
The lobster spoke and told me
No, it came on slow and so
Quiet, then he came out boom-
Ing, clopping his fingers and
Snapping, his thumbs were too slow
Though, and my fingers were swift
Still, he spilt my butter and
Stained my shirt, juiced the lemon
And then pummeled my fork.
Red devil spits his juices piping
Hot, fists grab his pincers twist-
Ing, and wind till his briars pinch
My thumb, his bloody armored joint
Falls, and the lobster wails, my
Arm you pig! I’m less a shell.
He wobbles a bit then falls
Flat, I win, says I with a
Crunch, his shell yields his meat for
Consumption, the butter swells
The crustacean’s muscle lumps
Swell with the juicy perfection.
This ode is to you, my sum-
Mertime ocean grouch and red
Love, though I bless his heart for,

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