An Ode to The Tombstone I Shouldn’t Love
The thing that’s likely to kill me
One day, isn’t a wayward bus
Or a tumor in my cervix or even
An anxious suburban wildcat.
Voted most likely to kill me
Sooner than I should go
Is a flat, round disc, frozen
And decorated with
Even more flat round discs.
My love affair with Tombstone has
To do with its vague acquaintance
With Chef Boyardee and the
Chewy pizza debacles of my
Childhood Fridays in Lent.
That which is kept dear remains so,
And becomes like the mythical
White stag the hunter chased until
He lost himself. My frozen
Pizza, captured yet elusive.
What do you want on your
Tombstone? the sheriff growls at
The condemned in a
Commercial for a food no man
Would ever request on death row.
I want pepperoni, and cheese
And to be alone with my
Gooey darling, noshing while
Watching Fixer Upper and
Waiting for life to start.
Today’s #napowrimo prompt: We challenge you to write a poem that is based on a secret shame, or a secret pleasure.