An Okra Insult
*Written as my hands are still burning from picking this vile vegetable*
"An Okra Insult"
By Rachel Heffington
My wrath is on thee, Okra
I would dearly love to choke ya'
If you hadn't quite so many little hairs.
For they always make me itch,
In a manner fiery which
Isn't pleasant when the heat of summer flares.
Oh, you have a pretty blossom
But your smell is like a possum
And when cooked you make a gorgeous, slimy brew.
And you prick and itch my arms
With your ticklish, burning charms
Till I'd gladly run your vital system through.
You bring lots of money, though
From the people who don't know
All the evil secrets hidden in your heart.
And I sell you at our stand
Though you bite and sting my hand--
We're a partnership...I guess that is a start?