A little more than a week ago, I had an "Oh, shit!" moment when I realized I had 20 minutes until the deadline for the Baconfest Chicago 's poetry contest. I quickly whipped up a Shakespearean sonnet and submitted it. It didn't win (some bastard named Joel did), sadly. Well, not TOO sadly--while it's definitely not my best work, I am quite proud of myself for rhyming "Izard" with "tries hard." Anyway, here goes:
O BACON
O Bacon, thou art truly king of meat
Thy salted pork strips, all the world doth savor
We marvel at your taste whene’er we eat
No match is there to thy ass-kicking flavor
Bacon, you doth haunt our every thought
And your dreams are gorged with bacon when we sleep
Efforts to abstain would go for naught
For thy taste makes even vegans weep
Each Baconfester samples and then tries hard
To judge the best dish made with savory Nueske’s
We nosh cuisine by all-star chefs like Izard
While imbibing our Goose Island brewskies
No other meat is worthy of a fest
O Bacon, Bacon, thou art truly best
No comments:
Post a Comment