The Ballad of Boiled Hot Dogs
A Poem
A human boils water to a high temperature
they wait impatiently as they make sure
the water exceeds, the water begins to pop
like the music they listen too as we sit
idly in a plastic package
we do not mind waiting
we really do not mind waiting
the water burns our skin
it burns no differently than they do
human children like us this way
rubbery with a slight off taste
to them we taste great
but they do not like to wait
though we do not mind
the water hurts more than the grill
which is quick and considerate
to boil us takes little skill but if our
skin pops like the music they listen to
they know our time is almost up
on their phone they text sup
u up, and other small phrases
that take less time than it does
to make sure we are at their
recommended temp
the children that eat us
do so without a gentle touch
the children that eat us
have declared us as lunch
and refuse to clean up
the children that eat us
smother us with ketchup
no one likes to be burned
not even hot dogs
but at least we brought joy
in a world who carries
matches in its pocket
ready to set itself and us
ablaze
