The pickles crumple like puny old men,
Folded together, bickering.
Green olives debate but always make up,
With a wink and pimento kiss.
The beats wear rich and fleshy red dresses,
And flirt solely with each other.
The peanut butter makes up equations,
But invariably gets stuck.
Sugar dazzles all in her glitzy robe.
Pompous oatmeal tries to court her.
Of this the tea bags gossip zealously,
Sauerkraut snorts and rolls his eyes.
Minestrone sings Italian arias.
Cans of chicken noodle whine.
Five honey jars glow like pots of pure gold.
Maple syrup is indifferent.
Jars of cherry jam nestle and giggle.
Chocolate chips play hopscotch in bags.
Tuna whistles. Prune juice pouts. Rice’s face is blank.
A jolly party all the time, in the cupboard space.
