Ode to Brussels Sprouts

Funny sometimes how a simple prompt - here, “sprout” - can take one to a place they didn’t intend to go, yet is exactly where they need to be…

————

Oh! to write a poem about

The humble Brussels Sprout

It looks just like an itty-bitty cabbage

My Mother made me eat ‘em

From my diet I now delete ‘em

For my feelings for said sprouts, they come with baggage

My Mom, the sprouts she’d boil

I know now how hard she’d toil

To put food on our plates that made us strong

She said they’d make us fitter

I just thought they tasted bitter

Though I know they can be sweet if not cooked long

I am sure you have your doubts

‘Bout my writing of these spouts

And the truth is this poem’s written to a prompt

(that prompt being, “sprout”)

But they say, “write what you know”

And so I went with the flow

Heaven knows: There’s plenty sprouts on which I’ve chomped!

Still, this poem gives memories, fond

Of my dear and loving Mom

It’s words wrap me in warm feelings throughout

And so with its vim and verve

That’s the purpose this poem serves

My ode, then, to my Mom - and Brussel Spouts…

By Mike Turner

From: United States

Website: http://www.miketurnersongwriter.com

Instagram: miketurnersongwriters

X: schoonerskipper

Facebook URL: https://www.facebook.com/miketurnersongwriter