A poem
Stage directions: Put on black turtleneck over black jeans.
Dim lights.
Set out coffee cups.
Add background noise.
Read in "Bad Poetry Reading" voice.
O Edamame!
You are so wonderfully good.
Much unlike bad poetry composed to your yummy buttery saltiness.
Of course you are not naturally salty.
You are only salty because I added salt.
Mmm. Salt.
Edamame, I love peeling you apart.
And I like the little green beans inside.
They are so scrumptious. I could eat them
Forever.
All bad poems must contain
Single words
And odd line breaks in the middle of sentences
Otherwise, how would you know it's free verse?
Exactly my point.
Edamame, your delightful green form
Brings joy to my heart
And tears to my eyes.
Oh wait. That was the wasabi.
I am forever enamored of edamame.
I will build a shrine in your honor.
I will paint a picture in your likeness.
People will say, "What on earth is that?"
I am as terrible a painter as I am a poet.
You are the bean of superiority, edamame.
Your green pod is like the shell of an oyster.
The beans inside are like pearls.
Except they don't break your teeth.
Plus they make a crappy necklace.
Yet I would wear the beans around my neck to show
My adoration and love.
I would expose myself to humiliation and the
Diatribe of a right-wing nut who opposes
Soy beans on religious grounds.
(Too decadent, you know).
I would risk the vituperation of society and wear
An edamame choker
Except I already ate all the edamame.
--Heidi Bond, 2003