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Back by unpopular demand, here's Awful House–a poem I did a while ago about Waffle House. I dedicate this to anyone who wanted a straw for their drink but couldn't find any.
Awful House: An Ode To Waffle House
Oh Waffle House,
how thou art filthy;
a fog of awfulness
lingers upon thee.
When I enter thy door,
my lungs compress
and I feel my skin
slowly wrinkling.
Thou possess the stench
of onions most foul,
and thy floor is
permanently sticky.
Thy tables are covered
with the sandwich crumbs
and cigarette ashes
of days gone by.
Thy food is greasy–
crashing through my bowels
like a midnight train
derailed.
Sanitation? Nay!
Thy employees care not for gloves–
nor for washing
dirty cups and plates!
Yet still I partake
of thy waffles and bacon...
though I dare not observe
the preparation.
And thy customers
are a dreadful brethren;
they guzzle coffee for hours
whilst babbling nonsense.
Theirs is a world
of smoke and lies;
the drama they spread
is akin to disease.
Haunt me no more,
bathrooms without soap
and mustard-stained forks
that pass for "clean"!
Goodbye Waffle House,
I must retire to my abode
and take a shower...
for I feel tainted by thee.
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