Barbed Wire Biscuits ……. [humor; Fantasy; Kind Of Long; Diet; Airport Security] - Poem by Bri Edwards
Barbed Wire Biscuits ……. [HUMOR; Fantasy; kind of LONG; diet; airport security]
It was my first flight and at the x-ray scanner I was stopped.
The scanning technician looked at “me” on the screen ….., and her eyes popped.
She conferred with a supervisor to put her mind at some ease.
The supervisor walked up and said to me: “Will you follow me, please? ”
I was led to a small private room and asked to be seated.
I was offered coffee and (by an armed guard) warmly-greeted.
What happened next baffled me a bit. They DID make a fuss indeed!
Several metallic objects had shown up on x-ray. An explanation they did need.
They said it looked like wires were on my person, and nails as well.
I didn’t comprehend their meaning, but I said to search me would be swell,
as long as they kept the coffee coming and I didn’t miss my flight.
They found no nails or wires, but it seemed they STILL had a bit of fright.
Next a doctor in a white coat came in and sat across from me.
He was warm enough though quite formal, a clipboard on his knee.
He asked questions about my health. Had I been in a war?
Industrial accidents? Surgeries? It began to be (for me) a bore.
Then it suddenly dawned on me what the fuss was all about.
As I explained, the doctor seemed edgy but he listened. And he did not shout.
“You see”, said I, “ever since I was a kid and watched cartoons,
I’ve wanted to be like Popeye who ate spinach, and had arms like balloons.”
The doctor looked rather dubious and excused himself for a while.
He came back with five more people. It made me feel like I was on trial.
“You see, Doc, I can’t explain it too well, but Popeye led me to it.
His arms were built from spinach iron, but I detested spinach; I could NOT chew it.
The taste, for some reason, turned me off, even when Mom did disguise it.
She finally gave up. She realized I would NOT eat it. I DID (and still do) despise it.”
“But I still craved to have Popeye muscles, and I started to eat iron and steel.
I don’t mean pills, mind you. I mean steel and iron, metal for real.
I started with paper clips. They were easier to swallow than tacks.
I progressed to small magnets which, in school, I ate for snacks.”
“Ball bearings went down easy but were hard to come by ….and expensive.
Small nails and washers and nuts are now on my menu, extensive.
But it was rough at times on my throat; several times I almost died.
When Mom found out what I’d eaten, she always screamed and cried.”
“I still eat lots of stuff that others eat, but my diet’s more varied.
I buy food at the market, but also eat rusty metal bits I find buried.
Yes, I use a grocery cart each week, but also a metal detector.
My mom still says it will kill me, but I dare not to correct her.”
“You see, I guess my body’s adjusted to my (some say) odd behavior,
and I credit my survival to my belief in Jesus, my Savior.
For breakfast I have two eggs with bacon and barbed wire biscuits.
An afternoon snack is often thumbtacks and goat cheese on Triscuits.
A big supper might include a steak so big it would make you “drop your jaw”,
or it might be a foot-long iron pipe, for which I use a hacksaw.”
I felt I’d said enough and paused to see what they’d say.
They said very little and soon I was on the plane; I was on my way.
The flight attendant served my lunch, but she looked at me as if I was insane.
There on my tray was fruit salad, cake, two sausage links, and three links of chain!
DELICIOUS! ! !
(May 23 + 25,2014)
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about Barbed Wire Biscuits ……. [humor; Fantasy; Kind Of Long; Diet; Airport Security] by Bri Edwards
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl