Best Condiment Poems
salt says hi to the sugar
Who’s in love with the pepper
Who’s the one who left the mustard
Who misses the ketchup
Whose kicks come from the hot sauce
Who truly loves the salt
Had lunch at a hamburger joint today
Charged 50 cents extra for mayo, eyes became blazed
Jaw dropped, I gasped
Said, “stuff it up your ass”
It's a damn condiment, are you serious, it left me dazed
Condiments are used a lot
Especially when it is hot
BBQ and picnics see
Different ones for you and me
Ketchup is so red and sweet
Like your smile--a special treat
Mustard's yellow like a daisy
A pretty smell that drives me crazy
Like the perfume I can smell
Always making my heart swell
Mayonnaise is so thick and white
Like your love that holds me tight
Pure as white snow glistening
My hearts always listening
Relish is a pretty green
Eyes the most gorgeous I've seen
Shining with a love so new
Which is a special part of you
Condiments make our food yummy
And taste great inside our tummy
But you savor my whole world
I am glad you are my girl
Had lunch at a hamburger joint today
Charged 50 cents extra for mayo, eyes became glazed
Jaw dropped, I gasped
Said, “stuff it up your ass”
It's a damn condiment, are you serious, it left me dazed
Yellow Mustard joined Olive Oil
At the motel, Blue Cheese Lagoon
Afraid he was much too anxious
Because she said he came to soon!
But he then knew what was ado
His cousin Dijon was more quick
Yellow Mustard was disappointed
Unaware Olive Oil was so slick
But the other condiments knew
They didn't need a measuring cup
They said it was in front of you
Come on Yellow Mustard Catch up!
Split pickle, sliced pickle, crisp pickle, knife
All in the jar planning the night of their life
Paul pokes a pinky in, eyeing his snack,
But this time the gherkins decide to fight back
They jump out and land with a splash and a splurt,
Wielding the knife, but no one gets hurt
The stunned little boy retreats to the den
And the pickles go crazy, like a pig out its pen
They snort and they stomp, hollering “Boo yeah!” and “Woot!”
Till they hear the door crack, and the boom of a boot
Mommy’s home now, with burgers to fry
But she sees the jar empty, and rolls her eyes with a sigh
“Buddy boy,” she groans, “has got to my stash”
No pickles tonight - just patties and mash
The sly little veggies dash out the cat flap
Hoping not to get lost, for lack of a map
They pick up on a beat, and file along
To the neighborhood night club, swaying hips to the song
Elated and dilly, they burst through the door,
Disco ball turning, then head straight to the floor
It’s Saturday night and the fever is burning
The moves that they do have the novices yearning
These pickles are partying - they own the house
Other creatures start stirring, even a mouse
The sight of them all, an unforgettable scene,
Draws onlookers round, except one of them’s mean
It’s a bitter young man, not a fan of bland food
Chased by his mom, yelling, “Wait up, dude!”
Paul gets to them first, and he’s armed with a fork
He bares his teeth growling, and pops like a cork
Hungry and brimming with anger and spite,
Paul gobbles them up, with a crunch and a bite
But the pickles keep wiggling - the show must go on
And Paul’s tummy is bouncing - he’s up until dawn
Like a croc with a clock, from miles away,
The dancing belly's still heard, all night and all day.
The moral, my friend, is that revenge may taste sweet,
But when food comes to life, you’d better not eat.
Winter’s expense
salt crafted chug holes
mis-align my wheels;
the auto-wash has gone
up another fifty cents
during COVID
and I fell on the icy steps.
Salty white skim coats
the roadways;
two inches of solid ice
and a five mile per hour drive
to the grocery
has taken two hours.
No, I don’t think
my soup needs that
condiment today...
now, where did I put the garlic?
3-10-2021
SALT Poetry Contest
Anthony Biaanco
needing to catch
up on all you
did and do
all day
when
i'm
a signalless cellphone
wanting connection
yet told network
not available
so i give an
f ing
beep bleeped by poetry
soup sipping dunked
deep in the shallow
waters of the gene
puddle speaking
without reading
fundamentalists
that ain't very
fun to be
with be
cause
they
only believe in what
simply what but
not who or the
words they
never nor
ever
even read and yet
cast the first
proverbial
stone
only
to
find that i found it
laying on the
ground and
decided to
throw it
back
three times harder
then first thrown
hoping to draw
blood from
bleeding
hearts
starting to boil my own
holy water but for
potatoes of Irish
soup where
truth be
told
they eat from the mundane
golden arches everyday
the same with every
day so may i have
some tomatoes
to taste the
bitterness of red rage
that i've brought
forth though
preferring
pepper
i will
salt
their
wounds
while trying
to apply ketchup
condenscendingly
Form: