Jell-O Mold

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How it glistens in the candles’ glow,
the star of every luncheon plate.
Who is it who could ever say no

to the salad dealt to her by fate?
With mayonnaise from a crystal dish
too elegant to contemplate–

the flavors of lime and tuna fish
meet at last, in quivering embrace.
What more could any hostess wish

than to see such joy on every face?

 

 

For NaPoWriMo, Day 15.

 

 

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Leave It a Lost Soul Making Something

Writ large on the side of an underpass was this message:
Ham aspic never solved anyone’s problems. Which, if you
really come right down to it, I guess it never has. Still, that’s
quite a thing to read on a Sunday morning, when you’re out
for a drive and minding your own sunny and blameless business.
Who would bother to write that? And what about perfection
salad? Has it ever rendered the world any more perfect?
Somewhere, there is a masked lover of everything gelatinous.
Somewhere, he raises his forearms over his plate, like a
mantis, thinks, “Everything I love only causes grief.”

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