Thursday, February 19, 2015
Rice Is My Friend
Friendship is the column of yellow rice
Cooked by the scrawny man who loops
And twists in wonderful collisions.
His cooking adores castles in the brain,
The offices of taste shape listlessness,
And the mouth carries shaped eggs
Into the bargain of our despair.
The battlements are running out of blood,
Sons and daughters are launched from high,
Landing after the meal of this column of rice.
Friends eternally disgrace your habits,
Yellow rice is the allergic commodity,
As this curtails the taste and strings a fellow.
Topic(s) of this poem: free verse