Ode to the Lobster (I ate for dinner)

Just for fun, enjoy this poem I dedicated to this weekend’s dinner. This one goes out to all the seafood lovers as well! #dinnertime

The lobster spoke and told me

No, it came on slow and so

Quiet, then he came out boom-

Ing, clopping his fingers and

Snapping, his thumbs were too slow

Though, and my fingers were swift

Still, he spilt my butter and

Stained my shirt, juiced the lemon

And then pummeled my fork.

Red devil spits his juices piping

Hot, fists grab his pincers twist-

Ing, and wind till his briars pinch

My thumb, his bloody armored joint

Falls, and the lobster wails, my

Arm you pig! I’m less a shell.

He wobbles a bit then falls

Flat, I win, says I with a

Crunch, his shell yields his meat for

Consumption, the butter swells

The crustacean’s muscle lumps

Swell with the juicy perfection.

This ode is to you, my sum-

Mertime ocean grouch and red

Love, though I bless his heart for,

Dinnertime.

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