Apples, cinnamon and honey
Flour, soda, salt and eggs.
All these things sound innocent
Thinking of them I’m quite content
Yet on my body they wreak havoc
How can such innocuous things
Be so nasty, dammit?
Mixed em up and put in the oven
Decided then it was like a bad omen.
They go out the door to the neighbors dear
Just do not want them here.
Sprinkled apple slices with cinnamon.
And I have my apple taste that
Will not sit in rolls on my waist.
I’m thinking of what to eat
Just need to move my feet
And clean the house and organize
Then the thought of food will be behind
And not in front of my eyes.
Days off are the hardest, true,
But with industriousness I’ll get through.
Purple Pennies 