Wheat (an acrostic poem)

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While being gluten free was not the lifestyle she wanted

Her choices were that or get sick as her body destroyed itself

Eventually she would get used to the changes in her diet

And find awesome alternatives to those things she loved to eat

The smell of fresh baked bread would always bring a tear to her eye

Pride (an acrostic poem)

 

Popping his shirt in victory

Regaling his opponent with trash talk

It would make most people sick to their stomach

Doing it to his twelve-year-old son, well that was over the top

Extreme hubris was his specialty, and this was his teaching moment

 

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Split (an acrostic alliteration)

 

So all this preponderance of togetherness made Pete practically sick to his poor stomach

Pushing people away was what Pete was professional at

Leave him in a group of pleasantly participating people

It was doomed to pyrotechnics and pointless pugilism

Then he would peace out, professing he had to pee.

 

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Moose (an acrostic poem)

Maybe it was the squirrel had had enough

Or maybe Natasha finally got her way

Or maybe Mister Peabody was sick of being second fiddle

So all we know is Bullwinkle wasn’t around anymore

Everyone mourned as they ate their venison jerky

 

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Tequila (an acrostic poem)

The alcohol burned her throat as she pounded the shot glass to the bar top

Everything spun for a second, but that was the whole purpose of this, right?

Quickly she lifted her hand.  “Another round, please.”

Unable to keep the grin from her face she looked at the rest of the bridal party

It was her last night of freedom and she didn’t want to remember any of it

Lifting up the replenished shot glass she said, “To life and health.”

All the time hoping she would be so sick tomorrow they would call the whole thing off

 

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Crush (an acrostic poem)

Cupid struck him right upside his head

Reducing him to a puddle at her feet

Unhinged he lobbed a lopsided grin her direction

She didn’t catch it at all as she focused his wingman

Her mind went to mush as Cupid played his sick game

 

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Wiggle Room (an acrostic poem)

When push comes to shove

It didn’t really matter if he chose white or black socks

Going along those lines socks were totally optional even

Glenn still sat there in his boxers, trying to figure out what to do

Looking at the rest of his intended outfit he smiled ruefully

Eventually he had to choose

 

Really there was only one decision that could make him happy

On went one black sock, then one white sock

Obviously if he got sick of them he could take them off

Making that the best decision he made that day

 

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Graft (an acrostic poem)

Giving his best had always been Amir’s motto, but others just wanted a hand out

Reaching into his wallet, he pulled out an extra twenty and handed it over

And just like magic, his truck would be the next one unloaded.

Funny how feeding greed made Amir sick to his stomach

Too bad he had to keep a two liter of Pepto-Bismol close at hand

Push (an acrostic poem)

People are always looking for an angle, an easy way in or out

Undermining their altruistic public face

So sick of false narratives that sell whitewashed souls

Hey maybe it’s time to shove back

 

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