Bread waiting room

I built a waiting room for my bread

With the blueprints I made in my head.

It has tiny couches made for sitting,

A small TV and stuff to do knitting.

I made some magazines, with tiny print,

On what to wear, a fashion-themed hint.

Of course for breads it’s just not the same.

Wearing cheese and ham is their aim.

There’s also tips on how to taste better,

And a whole section for a bready love letter.

“Ah, my dearest, I long for your crumbs.

Seeing your crust makes my body numb.

When you wear Gouda or camembert with jam,

I can’t move, like covered with spam.”

These entertain them more than I expected,

I guess it makes them feel less disconnected.

Breads love romance, and I guess they must,

Their days are numbered when I smell their crust.

Enjoy the moment when you’re gonna be eaten,

The life philosophy of the ones who are wheaten.

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Martian happiness delivery

Did you hear that thud on the roof?

I’m glad I’ve made it asteroid proof.

Let’s go see what made that noise,

Just like The Five or the Hardy Har boys.

Well I’ll be, it’s a carbon fiber basket,

Just next to a used U.F.O gasket.

It must’ve been the Martian guys,

Happiness delivery up from the skies.

Moon rocks again! They don’t understand.

They think that Earth food tastes like sand.

For our consumption, they bring us these.

Maybe they think it’s like camembert cheese.

They’ve got the heaviness spot on I guess,

But the taste is bland and they make you fluoresce.

Oh, but I guess it’s the thought that counts,

And they do make nice cat-climb mts.

Plus the red cabbage they instantly grow,

Tastes like berries and makes the blood flow.

Let’s wave them thanks for their very lovely hamper,

And it’s time to sleep, we’d better scamper.