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Pickles
A ridiculous ode to my favorite fermented craving
Pickled cucumbers are my favorite treat.
Inside a jar, my parents pack ’em neat,
Chock full of saltwater so they can ferment,
Kept in a cellar ‘till my heart is content.
Love me some pickles cause they’re salty and sour.
Ever so often, a bowl I’ll devour,
Since they’re my beloved parents’ superpower.
So this just happened. I wrote an Acrostic poem as a response to The Maverick Files’s challenge. If you don’t feel like googling it, here’s what it means:
An acrostic is a poem in which the first letter of each line spells out a word, message or the alphabet. The word comes from the French acrostiche from post-classical Latin acrostichis, from Koine Greek ἀκροστιχίς, from Ancient Greek ἄκρος “highest, topmost” and στίχος “verse”. — Wikipedia
Fancy, right? It’s also possibly the first poem I’ve ever written in English and the first poem I’ve written in any language in the past 18 years or so, so don’t take it too seriously. I’m a poetic newbie.
Normally, I would ignore these kinds of challenges because they’re way out of my comfort zone, but a patient stood me up at work today, and I’m bored. It’s…
