Chaos & Control were 2 of a mother,
Chaos, preferring the surf side any day,
Control, poolside & the sound side
only on green flag days.
Control retained her hourglass figure,
whereas Chaos had been as shapely
as every fruit in the basket.
Sir Benedict was a good egg,
always on the sunny side,
though sometimes he got scrambled
when he came out of his shell.
He could also be hard-boiled when unwell,
when his chicken-hearted mother,
who was bit on the overly easy side
would coddle him,
basting him with soup–
courtesy of one of his relatives.
Mr. Ruffles was known for his candies—
his chocolaterie being a real jimdandy.
Yet he was pounded into mincemeat,
when he dipped the shroomy truffle sweets
into the magic that made him randy.
Cookie thought Brownie was stuck up,
& Brownie thought Cookie was stuck on himself,
so they were stuck in their unfriended state,
until along came Candy,
who, distressed at their unfriendliness,
offered them each a hand,
building a bridge of commonality.
When Cookie & Brownie realized
they were better together,
from the fresh-out-of-the-oven warmth
that radiated between them,
only for another battle to begin:
Cookie thought their new alliance should be Crownie,
& Brownie, Brookie,
but both couldn’t have top billing.
When Ms. Pepper met Mr. Salt,
she saw him as her equal—
until Miss Sugar came along
& invited him
to sprinkle his crystals
atop her silky caramel.
It was then,
& only then,
that Ms. Pepper realized
there wasn’t anything
that Mr. Salt could not do,
for he complimented
as well as the sweet,
I Can’t Eat That!
I can’t eat gravy out of a packet or jar (no MSG, please),
I can’t eat potatoes out of a box (why, when the real thing
is so much cheaper, pound for pound?),
or margarine in any form (I can totally believe it’s not butter);
I can’t eat cranberry sauce out of a can (no jiggly, ribbed silos for me),
I can’t eat green bean casserole (concocted with Campbell’s chemicals),
or sweet potato casserole (because I just don’t like orange potatoes);
I can’t eat “whipped cream” made of oil (as if spun into white gold
by the nemesis of Rumpelstiltskin),
and I am thankful to be fortunate enough to be able to make that choice.
Kandi Barr’s Quandary
When a beau broke up with her
(it was never the other way around),
she turned to Mr. Goodbar.
When she lost another job
(always a dead-end one),
she found a Payday.
When she needed a break from the world
(a world where size 28W was hard to find),
she opted for a Milky Way.
When she didn’t know what the hell she wanted,
she went for a Whatchamacallit.
Then she met the man
who gave her a 100 Grand–
a man who knew she was the one–
even though he couldn’t wrap his arms around her.
The fact that she was king-sized & marshmallow-soft
appealed to him,
so when she became happy,
the stress (& the fat) melted away,
but so did his fat fetish-based love.
I Get it Well Done
I get all my meat well done
because I like my protein
like I like my lovemaking–
because anything less
isn’t medium rare,
only half done.
The Baker’s Manifesto
Betty Botter was a lousy cook,
but a swell baker,
for working with butter, sugar, flour, & eggs
was easy as pie,
a piece of cake,
a ginger snap even.
Throw chocolate chips into the mix,
& she was unstoppable.
The feel of raw meat made her sick,
& whoever referred to their kiddo
as Bacon or Hamburger?
It was always Cupcake or Sweetie Pie,
just as wretched men were pigs,
& dumbasses of both sexes were sheep—
mooing, oinking, bleating meat.
the smart cookies knew when
to shut their pieholes & cakeholes,
& stick a baguette in them,
for it was better to eat carbs
than to part your lips
& say something stupid.