Kitchen Poetry


I am questioning my desire for cheesy sourdough bread.

I’m wondering if I want something else instead.

I’ve discovered I’m a poet of the kitchen,

And now I’m just itchin’

To try out my rhymes just to see

If food mixed with poetry makes me free.

Refrigerator pickles

Makes me feel fickle

And toast with no jam is just sad.

The chef of my house is my dad.

Perhaps I’ll have him cook me up stuff

Make my eggs super fluff…

y.

Hmm.

Maybe I can’t rhyme.

I may just stick with rosemary and thyme.

 

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6 Replies to “Kitchen Poetry”

    1. Wai thank you! I was just talking to my dad about what I should eat as a snack and this was born. Lemme tell you, there are so many kitchen foods that have absolutely no rhymes to them. I know. This poem has like forty three rough drafts of trail-off sentences with no rhymes. XD

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