Pickling Liquid Savior Poem by John W. McEwers

Around Easter holiday there is a festival
Children run and play with eggs.
But on the bar at night where fathers gather
There is a jar full of pickled eggs.

There is never any telling how long it has sat.
Some say hundreds, some say thousands of days.
And it is only when the jar is opened
That the smell of pickled eggs has its day.

They should be called deviled eggs because of how gross they are.
They smell like sulfur surrounded in stale farts.
God forbid they be surrounded by hellish fire
As pickled eggs cooking would smell even more like farts.

But what is lost in all of this is the health benefits of the liquid.
The stuff that makes pickles pickles is worth more than gold.
The liquid builds muscles and prevents disease from sticking
And without the eggs in it it is a beautiful shade of gold.

And so on Easter when the Heavenly Lord has risen
His goodly steward walks into the bar.
He grabs the jar of pickled eggs and drains the fluid
And then it's on to the next bar.