Yes, I was sitting on the couch, eating some Lay's potato chips and contemplating their empty calories and their seductive taste ("Bet you can't eat just one" the old advertising slogan went) when I came up with this poem. I'm not sure if it needs another couplet to balance the stanzas or not.
Turnabout is Fair Play in the Land of Frito-Lay
I pity the poor people who lead potato chip lives;
for them day leads to day, but not one satisfies
and all leave them a thirst for something more
that can’t be bottled up and can’t be ignored.
But the potato chip people could well say unto me:
Who are you to look down on us in your pitiful poetry?
As line leads to line, so poem leads to poem
and the poor poet’s path still slants toward the tomb.
Yes, Old Critic Death respects neither poet’s pen nor ruler’s crown,
so we’re all on the same couch when all the chips are down.
(By the way, I'm now just over 1/3 done with the 181 poems!)
Turnabout is Fair Play in the Land of Frito-Lay
I pity the poor people who lead potato chip lives;
for them day leads to day, but not one satisfies
and all leave them a thirst for something more
that can’t be bottled up and can’t be ignored.
But the potato chip people could well say unto me:
Who are you to look down on us in your pitiful poetry?
As line leads to line, so poem leads to poem
and the poor poet’s path still slants toward the tomb.
Yes, Old Critic Death respects neither poet’s pen nor ruler’s crown,
so we’re all on the same couch when all the chips are down.
(By the way, I'm now just over 1/3 done with the 181 poems!)
