Cranberry Sauce (It’s Called).

Here’s a poem dedicated to that dark-red and sticky concoction known as cranberry sauce.

from zipmongo.com

I.

Cranberry sauce it’s called,

but it’s gelatin smooth and bald.

No berries or sauce,

just round and dulled.

II.

It slides out, and

the serving plate it’ll land.

There’s no denying,

it retains the shape of the can.

III.

Cut it with a knife;

it fights for its life.

Breaking in cubes and squares;

it continues its strife.

IV.

Finally, on your dinner plate

it really starts to hate.

It slides to the edge

to escape its fate.

V.

Stick it with a fork.