I am an old can, expired way past my open date
Fresh is not a word I would use to describe me or my pain
Maybe blunt or numbing or agonizing
Could be a part of my new recipe for life, for living
You see, this old can, has been in the same shelf for last few months and today out of all the **** days out of a year
She decides to open me up
I'm sour, ugly rotten inside til my core my juices; they clump when she began to pour me out
No doubt, I was ready six months ago or maybe even 2019
But now, she can't even enjoy my the sweetness of my whole, golden, buttery flavored goodness
Tosses me like nobody's business,
And yells, "we out of corn"
****! I was happier in the back, with
The spam