Lunch (an acrostic poem)

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Looking at her plate, she wondered how she had gotten here

Under the fluorescent yellow liquid cheese, a treasure trove of textures and flavors existed

Now her stomach rumbled in anticipation of the excavation ahead

Crunching a loaded tortilla chip, her tastebuds danced to the symphony of tastes

Hefting her beer and taking a swig, she smiled loving her little bit of heaven

Ground (an acrostic poem)

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Gripping the dirt like he was afraid to fall into the sky

Really it was his muscles clenching all at once

Outside the thunder rumbled, marking sonically where he had been zapped

Under those angry clouds, the smell of ozone persisted

Not that the people with the ski masks on noticed.  They were too busy trying to flee, but they

Didn’t have time because Thor stood back up and smiled.  “Now it’s my turn.”