Elegy for Eggo
The saddest words in Tierra del Fuego are,
“There are no more Eggos(tm).”
On November eighteenth*, or so
Eggo land was flooded, not from snow.
Not even if you got in your Winnebago(tm)
And drove from here to great Ohio
And even stoppoed in far-off Reno,
You’d find no stores with Eggo.
O my! O my! No Eggo! No Eggo!
Not even for those with lumbago.
So dry out soon, o wondrous dough.
Then shall our buttery smiles grow.
* = I wrote this poem some years ago. I don’t remember the year. Poems are hard.
– Paul De Lancey, The Comic Chef, Ph.D.
My cookbook, Following Good Food Around the World, with its 180 wonderful recipes, my newest novel, Do Lutheran Hunks Eat Mushrooms, a hilarious apocalyptic thriller, and all my other books, are available on amazon.com.
Eggos in Tierra del Fuego? =========== Opera is where a guy gets stabbed in the back, and instead of dying, he sings. — Robert Benchley
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