On The Avenue Of Bliss Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

It's overcooked too much.
Spicey to the taste and way too hot.
Whatever that is in that old crock pot...
Whether it is good to you or not,
The smell of it sours...
And creates not a wish for me to salivate.
I'd rather have just a glass of water, please.
Forgive me if I seem to be rude...
But none of that I'll have served on a plate.

And on the Avenue of Bliss,
No one wants to take a risk...
With old stirred up 'gumbo-ed' remedies.
At least those not appetizing to the eyes.
Bring some onions and potatos...
I'll make some homefries.

And on the Avenue of Bliss,
No one wants to take a risk...
With old stirred up 'gumbo-ed' remedies.
I apologize,
But you wont know me to lie!
Or stretch my imagination!

It's overcooked too much.
Spicey to the taste and way too hot.
Whatever that is in that old crock pot...
Whether it is good to you or not,
The smell of it sours...
And creates not a wish for me to salivate.

Oh-oh-oh...
Oh-oh-no!
I'm on the Avenue of Bliss,
And I choose not to take risks...
For free.

Oh-oh-oh...
Oh-oh-no!
I'm on the Avenue of Bliss,
And I choose not to take risks...
For free.

No more am I meeting repeated sweets teased.
Or walking down streets to fulfill empty cravings.
My desires have been raised not to throw away!

Oh-oh-oh...
Oh-oh-no!
I'm on the Avenue of Bliss,
And I choose not to take risks...
For free.

Oh-oh-oh...
Oh-oh-no!
I'm on the Avenue of Bliss,
And tired remedies don't work for me!