Flour, sugar, eggs, and pride,
And frosting mixed with cyanide.
This one has a scratchy fate:
Round and round go seventy-eight.
What happened here? A siege? Or time?
It’s lonesome in its windy clime.
All alone for science’s glory,
He’s in a salty purgatory.
Always with you, never seen;
Its breaking punctures lungs, and spleen
Don’t wonder who they are: resist!
They’ll assure you that they don’t exist.
Beware of climbing! No one knows
Where they go. Above? Below?
Its silver tone is best, perhaps,
For playing Reveille, or Taps.
A cat within? I’ve heard it said:
Its state is both alive, and dead.
Two pictures side by side: hello!
Let’s see them both in stereo!
Hollowed out, its other task
Is hiding jewels, a gun, or flask.
A Venus from the raging sea sent,
They say her suit is quite indecent.
One can really say a lot
With something like a dash or dot.
A collection of them! Which unlocks
The trunk, the door, or deposit box?
When he wants to pick things up,
He uses several suction cups.
He spends on wine, but never rent;
He simply cannot save a cent.
Attached with thread to close a sweater,
Two holes or four: which is better?
Compressed, it’s smaller—squeeze and see!
It stores potential energy.
Her favorite once, before she died—
Now she’s dust and rests inside.
Leave it off! It shines too brightly
On secret things that go on nightly.
Water, blood, and dreams go down it;
Porcelain and rust surround it.
Peasants run and wail and cry
When this one shows up in the sky.
Preceded by an eerie humming,
That lets you know a famine’s coming.
Sister’s in a dreadful state,
Go fetch the ammonium carbonate!
