Today seems like a good day for a poem I wrote last year after I wandered a grocery store trying to find ingredients. I submitted this to a virus poetry contest. You can read the winning entries here. Public Poetry is also producing a virus poem anthology which looks amazing.

Hungry For Thought

The over-proofed dough falls with my IQ
While I make bad art with pasta and glue

My brain resembles last night’s lasagna
Cold as a scope the doctor puts on ya

Maybe a chicken too dry to enjoy
A letdown, some say, like coffee with soy

I wish that I knew how I used to think
My julienned thoughts are all in the sink

Pureed with peas to a mushy green mire
A soup, if you will, with one rubber tire

Covid I curse, it’s this virus’s fault
For 19 plus pounds of junk in my vault

I long to create a thing that’s quite smart
Clove mixed with peaches, a tasty pie chart

One thought every day is all that I wish
With luck by next year I’ll finish a dish

In honor of my cooking poem, tonight I made fried chicken. Messy but delicious!

Take care. Mask up. Be safe.