The Cravin’

Hijinks and Horror

Once upon an afternoon dreary, while I pondered, pinterest pins sincerely,
Over curious volume of recipes and crafts galore-
While I nodded, merely tapping, suddenly there came a rapping.
As of a husband gently rapping at my office door.
“’Tis the husband,” I muttered, “rapping at my office door-
He’s only hungry and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I recall it was a weary fall;
And each pin before me sprawl the image beckoning this pin whore.
Eagerly I wished to borrow many more ideas before tomorrow.
From my screen I ceased saving, though I’d been craving-
To add so many more-
Pins, pins, saved for evermore. 

Back into the office turning, all the unsaved pins yearning,
Soon again I heard rapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely you can make a sandwich, practice;
Check the frig. That’s where the meat is. Pinterest calls. Please explore-
Have a sandwich and bother me no more!”

Much I marveled this so plainly, over many recipes the volume so ungainly,
Though not one he would be seeing- little relevancy they bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that a sandwich being
The meal he’ll be blessed with eating, at the table above the kitchen floor-
Bird or beast recipes were pinned and not his hunger to cure.
Lunchmeat today. Nothing more.

And the husband, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the stairs outside just beyond my office door.
And his eyes have all the seeming of a man who is dreaming,
And desperately clinging to a meal and cravin’ so much more
Than a sandwich that lies beyond the refrigerator door.
“Tis a sandwich, nothing more!

Sincere apologies to Mr. Poe.

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