Crisp (an acrostic poem)

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Crunchy salty goodness played footsies with his tongue

Relishing in the dulcet bass tones with each bite

It made getting his fingers greasy so worth it

Still he wiped his hands on his pants before grabbing his Coke

Putting slick hands on a wet can could mean instead of drinking it he would be wearing it

Gear (an acrostic poem)

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Grabbing all the bits and bobs he might need for creation

Everything, of course, except the right batteries

And once it was together, he had no way to test it

Reaching for some wires he hot glued them onto the wrong batteries and voila!

*Do not try this. I am not condoning this. Even though it might work.