Bacon's the most dangerous food in the land,
Not so the joint, diced pancetta or canned,
'tis the common type, that we should beware,
That sneaky streaky, that we find so fair.
So, what is wrong with our old breakfast friend?
The hangover cure, on which we depend,
Nice in a butty, with chicken or egg,
“What’s the beef with the pork,” I hear you beg.
Happy to tell you, put you in the know,
The rascally rasher is really your foe,
That salty goodness is really a trick,
It aims to kill, or at least make you sick.
I'm sure it's happened, to you or a friend,
When eating too fast, forgot to defend,
Against the rind, too rubbery to chew,
Slips down your throat and spells the end of you.
And so it just sits, a snake in your craw,
Making you choke, you can't breath anymore,
A long sinuous string, more like a noose,
Try as you might, you just can't shake it loose.
Eyes streaming hot, someone thumps on your back,
Start to black out from the air that you lack,
With finger and thumb, a pinch at the tip,
A slow careful tug, and out it will slip.
Like some monstrous tapeworm, plaid and grey,
Slithers right out as it's pulled all the way,
Past sweating lips, left to hang in the air,
A vivid warning for all to take care.
And now you know, you've all had a warning,
Beware the bacon, night, day and morning,
Don't be complacent, be always on guard,
Or cut off the rind..., it's not very hard.
Chris Raven
© 2017 Chris Raven
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