Bad Poetry Monday – 12 (a.k.a. The Moment You’ve All Been Waiting For…)

I found it.  The creme de la creme of my poetry.  As bad as it is, it sparks such fond memories that I can’t help but LOVE it.  I will dissect it post-poem.  So here it is…

Pop Tarts: The Food of the New Generation*

Pop Tarts.

They live in my tummy.
Because I ate them.
They tasted good.
Yummy, yummy, yummy.
I have Pop Tarts in my tummy.
Strawberry is the flavor.
The flavor that tops them all!  Non-frosted please.

Made of cells.
Cells are good.
Yummy Pop Tart cells.

Eat them!
Love them!
Give some to me cuz…
I love them too!


Tell me, where can you find better poetry than that?  So honest.  So raw.  So cutting edge.

In high school I ran with a very…creative crowd.  My friend Jana and I would spend almost every day at each other’s houses.  While some of our friends held down summer jobs, we made creativity our job.  We would bake cakes and color the batter four different colors, then swirl them together.   We built villages out of legos.  We golfed almost daily.  We made many, many collages.  We drew cartoons (man, if I could find those, that would be another awesome post).  We made apple pies in creative forms and ate it for breakfast.  We watched her sister practice riding her unicycle from our perch on the roof.  We went ice-blocking.  We played tennis*.  And we wrote bad poetry about rubber chickens and beatniks and food we liked (case in point) and obviously, about whatever we were learning in science (hence the mention of cells).  Jana probably grew up and continued being artsy and cool.  Me, I’m average.  But I revel in memories of when I was artsy and cool…

*While the content of this poem reflected my opinion at the time written, keep in mind that this was before I knew a single thing about nutrition.  All I knew was activity burns calories.  And I was active.  The end.

**The fact that we played golf and tennis makes us sound like we were preppies at a country club, which is not true.  We played golf for free (well, on our parents’ membership, which cost only like $250 for the whole family for the entire season), and we played tennis at the public courts near my house where you had to insert quarters to buy time on the lights at night.

p.s. I now prefer my Strawberry Pop Tarts frosted on the rare occasion that I eat them.

6 thoughts on “Bad Poetry Monday – 12 (a.k.a. The Moment You’ve All Been Waiting For…)

  1. That is the best poem I have ever read about Pop Tarts.
    My best friend in grade 10 and I spent a whole summer building elaborate dollhouses, which was a lot of fun – and then we discovered boys and weren’t friends anymore. Sigh.

  2. Pingback: Carolingian Minuscule « Minnesota Mom

  3. Pingback: Crafty, like a fox « Minnesota Mom

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