Fried (an acrostic poem)

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Fast-food restaurant grease ran down his chubby fingers.

Reaching for the cup of bubbly sugar water to wash it down, he took a long swig.

It tasted so so good. He snatched up his burger and took another ferocious bite.

Eventually, the stuffing of his face subsided and he turned back to the problem at hand.

Differential equations had destroyed his brain, but after that carb load, it was time to strike back!

Mechanic (an acrostic poem)

Image: By Sicnag – 1964 Oldsmobile 442 2 door Hardtop, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=45448417

Machine magician, doctor of octane studies, wrench whisperer

Every one of those titles match well with her engine grease pedicure

Changing the blown out head gasket of an Oldsmobile 442

Her wizardry breathed life back into that smoke belching dragon

And by the end it bent to her will, purring with all eight cylinders

Now ready to consume as much blacktop and gasoline as could be reached by the tip of the pedal

It was the masterful application of her sorcery and to celebrate its completion she pushed her mount to the max

Causing twin black streaks as evidence of her passing as she rode the beast into the distance

Crispy (an acrostic poem)

Crunching greasy fried chicken

Reveling in the horribleness of it all

It was like the sound was a delectable spice

Satisfying something deep and primal

Pushing mere sustenance into something heaven sent

Yet also devil spawn for the grease stains on my shirt

 

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