Over the Top

You're the cream cheese on my everything bagel,

the maple syrup on my fresh from the toaster waffle,

and I feel I must warn you that this poem

is going to get immeasurably more awful.

You're the amaretto flavored creamer in my coffee,

the no calorie sweetener made with saccharin in my tea,

the marshmallows in my bowl of Lucky Charms cereal,

the vanilla ice cream in my cherries jubilee.

You are a warm blanket on a winter night

and this is going to sound even more sappy:

you are a beautiful, mild and temperate day

after three straight weeks when the weather has been crappy.

You are a memory foam mattress for my bed,

an ottoman for my favorite comfy chair,

the feel of a thick shag carpet under my bare feet

unless I step on a sharp tack that I didn't know was there.

You are the feeling of rest and rejuvenation

after a much-needed afternoon snooze,

or a comforting Chinese foot massage

after a five-mile walk in extremely tight-fitting shoes.

You are like going to a Picasso exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art

after I've seen nothing but inept, amateurish doodles,

or like a seven course gourmet meal cooked by a Cordon Bleu chef

after I've had a steady diet of nothing but ramen noodles.

I know sometimes my words spew like lava from an erupting volcano

and it probably would be best if I'd learn to be more terse.

I'll just say you're supreme, you're the best, you are nonpareil 

and conclude this godawful poem before it gets any worse. - Jeff Barnes