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Contests : Wergle Flomp Free Poetry Contest : Past Winners : 2008 : Bret Moylan
THE PORK RINDS
Twas a restless night upon me as the pangs of day pressed on me
Wide awake I watched the beams of moon that flashed upon my floor
From which things that caused my weeping, seeking succor I went creeping
To the kitchen from my sleeping to the balm I kept in store
"'Tis my pork rinds" there I stammered, "that I purchased from the store,
Still here from the night before"
With no less than pure abandon seeing the bag I thrust my hand in
Placing one piece on my palate caused a frenzied craze for more
Heaps I shoved in—more would follow faster than my throat could swallow,
Filling every space of hollow with that snack from days of yore
Dread methought of life in absence of that salty snack of yore,
Stashed inside my cabinet door
Though Lenore yelled "Stop that crunching" fervently I kept on munching
For no tempest wind could tear me from that taste I do adore
Of that fat I kept on eating, yet my heart continued beating,
With my family still repeating "soon yourself will tumble o'er"
I though had not found a more delicious food the whole world o'er,
Than the fried skin of a boar
With my fingers drenched in greases from a thousand silky pieces,
There but lied one skin remaining causing conflict to my core
As my heart could not decide—for shan't I eat last piece of hide or
Should I leave it there inside for keeping in my private store?
Then I took to eating of that lonely pork rind from my store
Self-control went out my door
Then I felt an inner burning—in my heart its chambers churning
With my chest being choked by chicharrones I fell to the floor
Then my heart read by my doctor—he said "Pork rinds! They had blocked her"
"Doc" said I "I've always stocked her, tell me truly I implore,
"Can I soon again eat pork rinds? Tell me tell me I implore"
Quoth my doctor, "Nevermore"
Home I fled back fleeced of feeling, on a diet least appealing
Rice cakes now replace the pork rinds there inside my cabinet door
Bitterly and broken hearted with my skin a' frying departed,
Desperate, dazed I crazily started sucking crumbs from off the floor
Realization hit me as my soul that lies there on the floor
Shall eat pork rinds—nevermore!
Sent as a joke to PoetryAmerica, this poem won an honorable mention in the 2008 Wergle Flomp humor poetry contest sponsored by Winning Writers. Author Bret Moylan received a cash prize of $72.95.
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