Don't Mess With My Sweet Potato Pie Poem by Doris Dzameshie

In the twilight of existence, as the cosmic clock winds down, Michael found himself in a hospital bed, awaiting his final gown. The gallows loom, the noose swings low, his fate is sealed, it's true, but "dime" it all, he has one last request, and it's a pie-shaped coup.

They say the end is nigh, that death awaits with open arms, But Michael won't shuffle off this mortal coil without some final charms. So, bring him some sweet potato pie, that golden, gooey delight, and let him savor every bite as he bids this cruel world goodnight.

The doctors' scowls, the nurses protest, they say it's against the rules, but he will be damned if he departs this life without his sugary jewels. He'll fight for that flaky crust, that cinnamon-spiced embrace, and if they try to take it from him, he will slap 'em in the face.

"Don't mess with my sweet potato pie, " Michael cried with righteous rage, as they dragged him to the theater, his defiance on full display. Let the preacher pray, the children gasp, the doctors do their deed, but his mind was on that pie, his final act of greed.

So, here's to life, and here's to death, and here's to dessert divine, May Michael's taste buds tingle, his soul take flight, as he savors that last sweet line. And when the lights go out, let his epitaph read clear: "Here lies a pie-loving fool, who chose dessert over fear."

In Memory of Michael Nsiah - May 2024