Black Beans: A Poem

Monday night’s dinner was deliciously inspirational; so much so that Miles felt compelled to express his love of Mexican Monday in written word.  Enjoy.

Note: I really, really wanted to record this…but it was tough to decide between Def Poetry Jam or beatnik, and I wasn’t certain I’m ready to make a fool of myself in video form.  Just keep those styles in mind.

Oh, black beans!  You are on my plate.
I cannot wait…
to scoop you, smash you, eat you whole,
poke you with a dull-pronged utensil.
Last week, you accompanied my quesadilla full of cheese.
To that quesadilla I say, “CHILD, PLEASE!”
Remove this item from my plate, or it will surely meet its fate
Of being thrown,
to the floor.  
At the cat.
See ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya, quesadilla.
Black beans only, please.
And maybe some grapes, or some other round food.
I will reject your triangular pocket of protein and dairy, with your secret sneaking of bell peppers,
For those things are not round.
Black beans only, please.
Full of hunger, I reach for those delicious fiber and protein packed orbs.
They are beans.
They are black.
That’s weird.
Black beans, it was deliciously fun while the good times were here,
but now I fear…
Your round shape.
Your strange color.
Your texture.
Your beaniness.  
Your truth.
Get off my monster plate.
Join the grapes on the floor.
Foods of roundness: NO MORE.
Yes please,
Floor Food Art (not rabbit poop)

Floor Food Art
(not rabbit poop)

2 thoughts on “Black Beans: A Poem

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