NaPoWriMo #6: RIP

Now for something completely different.

I went to NaPoWriMo.net for a little inspiration, and really liked their prompt from a few days back: write a poem predicting your own death. I decided to have a bit of fun with it. So, it's goofy and not very good in terms of actual poetry, but so what? It features bacon, and you ought to know by now how I feel about bacon.


BLT RIP

She lived a long and happy life.

It ended unexpectedly
in the middle of a BLT

to which she had added avocado
for she liked the contrast
of flavor and texture
crunchy against smooth
smoky against mellow
accented by crisp greens
tangy tomato
and of course, the extra zip
of sourdough bread

that smooth avocado betrayed her
in the end
sliding a large bite of bacon
too soon down her throat
where it lodged
and refused to be loosed

a pity she lived alone
her husband gone just a year
no one to hear
her choking
no one to see
her lips turn blue
though it’s true

eating a BLT
would be
a good way to go.

Guess what's for dinner?

Oh, and whole wheat blender pancakes, too... but c'mon, we all know what the main course of the meal is, right? And yes, this is a photo of the actual bacon I cooked (no stunt bacon was used for this evening's post).

Bacon: an ode

A single slice still
on the serving plate too late I realize
I failed to savor what I already ate

and now am carried away by visions
of delectable crispy flesh
slowly melting on my tongue
guilty ecstasy of clogged arteries
nevertheless keeping me young
alive with sublimely smoky succulence
every tomato more exquisitely tangy
every avocado more silken smooth
even alone you are more than enough for me

alas it was not to be too late
white flash of empty plate rouses me
from unrequited reverie

for while I dreamed, he schemed.

I haven't written any poetry for a long, long time. But I was inspired by my friend No Cool Story, who has heretofore been my supplier of virtual bacony goodness, and who recently announced her retirement from said virtual bacon. Thanks for the memories, NCS. (Don't worry, I still love you; you brought back my muse!)