yikes

this is my third entry in like ten minutes. i realize. thank you. i am extremely bored, and tired... and can't take a nap. so here is what i do. alisha and i are performing in a talent show this weekend. yes we are. our talent you want to know? eating bacon. thus, this poem felt appropriate.

Into the Frying Pan
by Alisha Heavilon

Dancing ribbons of bacon jump into the skillet,
sizzling with excitement
on the hot metal.
The sinuous edges
curl and wriggle in the heat,
cavorting to the tune the grease sings
as it tosses tiny droplets of itself
in the air like party favors.

It comes dressed in a suit striped red and white,
but the fat exchanges its opacity
for something a little more translucent
and off-the-shoulder.

Aromatic fingers reach to caress
all surroundings and leave
an evocative reminder that lasts
the rest of the day.

Crispy, crunchy, brittle bacon.
Merry Christmas, little taste buds.

That's some kind of beautiful.




and i say: hip hip hooray, let's hear it for tasty.