Author’s Note: This could be the stupidest thing I have ever written. Here’s a poem in response to the prompt to write about a fight between two unlikely combatants. This is what comes, sometimes, of forced creativity. You must write something, even if it’s terrible.
In this corner,
weighing hardly a
quarter of a pound,
the vegetable champion
of the world, THIS TURNIP.
And in this corner,
weighing next to nothing,
about as heavy
as a toothpick,
THIS TOOTHPICK.
Sure, the toothpick can
stabbity-stabbity-stab,
but this turnip can
go to the root of the matter
and that’s going to prove
a tough challenge
for the toothpick
who could bend or break
under the pressure.
So the toothpick has to
be quick on its tip
and quick with its wit
to outdo and out-fight
Mr. Turnip, but
no one is writing off
this little stick of wood!
–because everyone
remembers the blood bath
of last year’s championship
match between toothpick
and tomato, wherein our
toothpick verily made
spaghetti sauce of the
tomato champion.
Boy, that was a mess.
I don’t know if we’ll see a repeat
of that ugly fight this year,
as, even if toothpick makes
a mess of turnip, it won’t
be a sloppy one.
It’s going to be a
tough match, I predict,
one in which perhaps
no fighter will emerge victorious,
one full of holes
and the other in shards,
a mere splinter
of his former self.
They’re coming together
in the middle of
the ring now for
the customary greeting
and the countdown to battle.
The crowd goes wild
and this dumb thing is over.
michael jarmer 