On Spam

"The problem’s all inside your head," she said to me.
It’s not the flavor so much as the consistency.
She turned her back and then I dropped it in my tea;
There must be fifty ways to hide your Spam.

You see, it’s really not my habit to be rude.
I hope my purpose won’t be lost or misconstrued,
But this meat tastes like it has been already chewed.
There must be fifty ways to hide your Spam.

Just open up your pants, Lance
Drop it down the back, Jack
Or put it in your shirt, Burt
Just listen to me

Don’t make a big fuss, Russ
You don’t have to discuss much
Pretend you have to go pee, Lee
And flush it hastily

She said, "It grieves me so to see you looking thin."
My stomach lurched, oh god she’s serving Spam again.
I tried to smile, but then my head began to spin
Thinkin’ about the fifty ways…

Feed it to the cat, Matt
Hide it in the plant, Grant
Stick it in your shoe, Lou
And set yourself free

Put it under the pan, Stan
Slip it in the crease, Reese
I don’t eat Spiced Ham, Sam
Don’t take it personally

This is lovingly dedicated to my mother, whose affection for "Spiced Ham" in the 1970’s caused me to develop these and other Spam-avoidance techniques. Of course it was always better if I could hide the cans whenever I found them in the pantry and pray that she would forget that she had bought any Spam at all. I was creative and resourceful, and I found excellent Spam-hiding-places all over the house. My brother, less creative and more courageous, preferred to just chunk it in the trash.

I have enjoyed now a blessedly Spam-free existence for more than twenty years.