There is this incredibly cool outfit called Poetry Thursday, dedicated to helping bloggers share a love of reading and writing poetry with others. Every Friday, Poetry Thursday posts a reading or writing prompt, and, before noon on the following Thursday, participants post their poems on their blogs and put the links to the poems back at Poetry Thursday.
I’m still looking for a way to get involved, so y’all can look forward to many more mid-week poems, but for now, I was satisfied to browse through their “completely optional idea” archives. I was inspired to write two poems, one with the prompt of “food” and one with the prompt of “intense personal experience”. Enjoy.
A Love Letter to Chick-Fil-A Waffle Fries
Sometimes I don’t know which part is best
Or if it’s the harmonious whole that makes you irresistible.
There’s your salty golden brown crunchy-but-soft fried outside
The mashed potato that squeezes out of its confines into my mouth as I chew
The almost too sweet bite of the generic ketchup
The shape that allows me, with one unladylike stretch of my jaw,
To drape you across all my tastebuds at once.
I adore you, my salty darlings,
But my mom always makes me share.
I keep telling you, I only let you almost drown once.
I just had my head in the cabinet for five minutes, maybe less,
I thought you couldn’t get in trouble that fast, you could barely even walk.
I thought you were dead; you were doing the dead man’s float, surrounded by blue,
I couldn’t even see your blonde ringlets; you were soaked to the bone.
I remember mom jumping in after you, screaming at me to call 911,
I remember her appearing before me, like some terrifying statue to a God of destruction,
I remember the water beading off of her, puddling, you, quiet, horribly limp.
I heard later that you just stopped breathing, altogether,
I thought this sounded bad, but you didn’t inhale any water. Our grandma came that day,
I don’t remember that. She might as well not have been there,
I just remember getting shoved off on the neighbors while mom went in the ambulance,
I know that they made me grilled cheese, and cut it diagonally, which tastes better.
I don’t know what went on next, but you aren’t dead, and it wasn’t my fault, at least
I know that’s what dad kept telling me over and over on the way to the hospital. But
I keep telling you, it was just the one time.