An Almost Perfect Poem

Some days it comes over you like a fit.
 

An Almost Perfect Poem
 
I want to be
a magic muffin
I only want
to make you smile
I want to be
a magic muffin
Make you happy
for a while.

When I was younger, in my twenties,
cupcakes were my bill d’fare.
Gooey icing, pretty sprinkles
I thought nothing could compare.

I had cupcakes for my breakfast
I consumed them for my lunch,
licked up every cheerful sprinkle
to the last tee-nine-cy crunch.

Yet my soul remained unsated.
(though the cupcakes tried their best)
‘Til that night a happy hippie
pulled a muffin from his vest.

Pocket lint and cosmic matter,
flattened where it should be round
it reminded me of something
from a homeless lost and found.

But the hippie eyed me sagely:
You’ve been sad and off your feed.
Man doth not thrive on colored sugar.
A magic muffin is what you need.

To describe the transformation
would require a month of years.
But one taste of magic muffin
satisfied me, toes to ears.

Twenty bluebirds sang in chorus,
passing dogs exclaimed my name,
I laughed out rainbow bubbles,
healed the dead and raised the lame.

One taste more would be excessive.
That is not the muffin way.
Joy requires no cream cheese icing.
Almost anyone can say:

I want to be
a magic muffin
I only want
to make you smile
I want to be
a magic muffin
Make you happy
for a while.

 

 

5 thoughts on “An Almost Perfect Poem

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