Best Vittles Poems
Driving along
What's that I smell
The daily delight
Of the latest roadkill
From raccoons to possums
In this flattened cuisine
As vultures take lunches
On this finest of dining
Call us the critter getters
Crossing over our paths
Taking them out
As they scurry this way and that
From Bambi to Thumper
And all their forest friends
It does make you wonder
Who you'll run into next
We'll even take out the curious
Who wander on
To that portion of blacktop
To see what's going on
From teetotaling turtles
To slithering snakes
There's not a creature out there
That we won't pancake
So check out the roadkill
If there's still twitch after the thump
Hurry in back
And toss it into the trunk
Because down in the South
There ain't no one can say
That any of us country folk
Let a thing go to waste
Below the Mason Dixon line
If it's fresh enough
We'll take it home ya'll
And have it for lunch
As long as it's fried
There ain't a thing
With cheese grits on the side
That we won't eat
I'm where white trash meets technology. It's safe to say that the whole towns' gone to the dogs. As Society loses focus are pivotal issues and revolts against a coffee cup color like a pack of skittish lab rats, I think it's safe to say it's devolution at it's finest. I'm where nature meets chemical ruin. As "Global Chernobyl", continues to creep into our lives. We choose to be ignorant to the inevitable decline. War are Christmas melting on a hot junkie spoon big city concrete slab. Insects caught in a website. Trying to hold on to any kind of normality that a free nation gone rogue holds dear. Memories of happy traditions become more and more diluted as our simian minds cook in our skulls. Radiation riddled Jesus "Corpsey" Christ rising from the abyss, mutated with 7 heads and 7 eyes. Consuming it's flock. Vomiting bones and gore twisted in wires and cords. Broken glass and festive sweaters. Swallowing prays,skeletal matter, and Santa Claus letters. Just focus on the savings. You can't afford not to. The tentacles of the beast are many, and they penetrate deep. Soft is America's under belly where hides the sweetest of meat. Tender vittles. Tantalizing. I'm where white trash meets technology. One day that smartphone is going to out smart us all and sell us all out. But until then just keep your head down and get back to work. Once you feed of the forbidden fruit from the tree of knowledge, you are forever soiled in "Enlightenment" and cast out the Garden of Blissful Ignorance.
Those born unto a family large will know whereof I speak.
When you sat at table, to get your fill there was a technique!
During Pa's interminable grace, bellies would begin to growl,
Anticipating the meat and taters or noodles with the fowl.
There was a paucity of babble as the cutlery began to clatter.
(I always had my eye on that chicken leg reposing on the platter!)
But I usually had a choice of the lowly gizzard or the liver,
Or maybe the rooster's scrawny neck, that ghastly bony sliver!
On the Hoosier farm there were bushels of Russet pertaters,
And from Ma's bountiful garden, juicy beefsteak termaters,
But you must be very deft when such was set upon the table.
When the grub was passed, you snatched whatever you were able!
Being one of the littlest kids in the tribe was my bane!
That invariably placed me nigh the end of the food chain.
Little was said 'cept and occasional, "Please pass the salt."
As elbows flew during that aggressive culinary assault!
When company came, tradition was that women and kids ate last,
While we young'uns agonized, the men enjoyed their repast!
I mumbled 'neath my breath (and it wasn't always "praise" the Lord!),
As I impatiently awaited my vittles from Ma's sumptuous board!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Vittles
Well what we got for breakfast, big piece of apple pie? maybe some chicken but I think that’s gone by.
Maybe have some oatmeal, but I sure do hate that stuff, depends on how I feel or if I’m hungry enough.
Or how ‘bout grits with spam and eggs or fried up chicken legs,
and we’ll top it with the bottom of the keg, slurp up them dregs.
For desert maybe suck on some skittles,
and thank the cook for these here vittles.
Robert A. Dufresne
spittles
skittles
AP: Honorable Mention 2026