I shared a dramatic monologue from my college poetry portfolio yesterday, and as promised, I am showcasing another. From what I remember, one of the first forms we did was an ode. For those of you who don’t know:

Now, some people did odes to loved ones or favorite places or serious stuff. I think one guy did one for the toilet, which I found quite impressive. I decided to do mine on snow peas because I love eating them. I give this poem a solid “meh” because it is sorta cute. I was encouraged to embellish my piece, but I feel it threw a wrench in my simple style and sounds unnatural. Still, snow peas are yummy, so who cares?

An Ode to Snow Peas

Some people like them in stir-fry.
Others only eat them shelled,
or hidden in a salad drenched with dressing.
I like them in their simplest and most natural way.

I’m sitting on the couch
eating fresh snow peas,
relishing every bursting bite
of cold, clean crunch
and sweet juice.

I hold one up to the sunlight,
observing its translucent, green shell
wrapped around and shining through the tiny peas and veins,
like crescent, chartreuse stained glass.

It shatters with a smash,
a crash and a crunch.
Fractured fragments of snow pea glass
are crushed by pearly teeth,
slicing cravings and slaking hunger.