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My Win, Your Loss
I stare at Beau, my enemy, with his full plate of pancakes,
slathered in a brown liquid.
My allies cheer my on as I drag my sword into the butter,
and then dunk the once cherished delight into syrup.
“He’s on his seventh,”Macey, my loyal spy, states.
I nod, gulping down my carton of cool milk.
“Number?” Beau asks, staring at me from across the table.
“Ten,” I say, though I'm on my twelfth.
Beau’s allies cheer him on, as I ask mine for more pancakes.
“What are you on?” I ask Beau. He is on fifteen.
My stomach feels like it's going to burst on my nineteenth,
the milk being served to me no longer helps me swallow. I want to surrender.
I look at Beau. His eyes look full and sick.
“I am done,” he says, his allies waving their white flag.
“You win,” Macey cries out
as I look across the green ordinary lunch table.
I smile in victory.
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This article has 1 comment.
i say i wish for gluten foods to much
it could be worse, i guess.
For my schools pancake day, I challeged a hungry friend to a pancake eating contest. So I decided to make a poem about it. I love foods, like pancakes, but after I ate all of those: I wouldnt eat one for three weeks.