Disgustronomy

I wouldn’t want to eat a bug
I’d picked up off the front room rug,
And I’d be tempted not at all
By something crawling up my wall.
Backyard vegetables are fine;
Less so, insects on the vine.
My tastes turn to more exotic
Exoskeletal aquatic
Creatures from beneath the seas.
Lobster? Langostino? Please!

Alone In A Basement Office During A Power Failure

Power’s out. This much I know
Because my eyeballs tell me so.
My ears insist it’s light and bright;
My eyes, however, think it’s night.
Tiebreak goes to sense of touch,
I guess. Or smell. Taste? Not so much:
Crawling on my hands and knees
To find and lick the fusebox? Please.
Daytime has a different scent,
Though, than what’s left when daylight’s went:
Fewer blossoms, less exhaust,
More emptiness when light is lost.
Can touch distinguish night from day?
The light vibration’s gone away
From my indoor environment,
But that’s a less than helpful hint:
When electricity stops flowing,
All the beasts it feeds stop going.
Two to one (with two abstentions),
Survey says, There’s sun. Intentions?
Easy: I’ll indulge my ears
And sunbathe ’til the light appears.
I’ll tilt my desk chair back and dream,
And save a mint on UV cream!
In darkness, I’m the ideal man,
Superbly coiffed, a healthy tan,
Well-muscled…when the lights are out
(And I’m alone), there’s little doubt
I’m nearest to perfection’s door:
In daylight? Quite a different floor.
Arcing squirrel, thanks for this.
Insensibility is bliss.

ˈtəŋ

An interesting organ–and word–is the tongue,
The first muscles mastered when babies are young.
The spelling is awkward (what’s up with “u-e”?)
And to show off your tongue is as rude as can be.
For people with taste it’s essential, to tell
What they’re tasting and then to tell others as well.
Awareness of this órgano de la boca
Has made me a champion dental-gap poke-a.
We’re buddies, my tongue and me. Weird? I suppose,
But it keeps my phalange-tips out of my nose!

Venomous Kittens

Kittens: Adorable, fuzzy and sweet…
Until they decide that you’re something to eat.
They’ll climb up your chest, nudge your chin with their head,
Take a nip from your neck, and meowla, you’re dead.
It’s not that they’re mean, predatory or vicious,
They just lack control when they think you’re delicious.
They’ll grow to adulthood and soon lose their venom
(Well, most do; I’d swear that some still have it in ’em),
But juvenile felines will lay you to waste
In a heartbeat. It pays to have terrible taste.