FOOD POEMS and HUMOR SECTION

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Deep Fat

I've had all I want of trans-fatty acid.
I will not be silent. I can't remain placid.
I couldn't care if my French fries are flaccid.
It lays on my belly for days till it's passed.

I think they use it because it won't spoil.
It's not a quality natural oil.
It gets so hot that an ice cube will boil.
Watch how the liquid will bubble and roil.

I think it has a bad taste that's synthetic.
It's an industrial solvent, pathetic.
It sits around in your gut like emetic.
You could throw up. It is not copacetic.

They won't disclose that it's some kind of lard.
They boil it and steam it and heat till it's charred.
There's nothing they won't disallow or is barred.
They're keeping secrets, so be on your guard.

They keep the barrels stored under the fryer.
The stuff never spoils, though it makes me a liar.
It doesn't have like potential for fire.
Restaurants like it and are the best buyer.

I think the stuff tastes like motor oil gunk.
It's nothing but acid and piggy fat junk.
Look at the globby white goop of the gunk.
To say it tastes better is restaurant bunk.

The prefix of trans implies something beyond.
They make it with heat and a chemical bond.
It probably stews in a pressurized pond.
I have opinions and want to respond.

My foremost thought is it tastes like some lube,
The kind that a grease monkey squeezed from a tube.
He must be thinking we're some kind of rube.
I've some choice words for this chemistry boob.

Copyright © 2007 Stephen Blumenkranz