My Literary Legacy

You're always hearing stories of people going through someone's attic and finding some precious treasure. A long lost Rembrandt. A never-before-seen manuscript from a famous long-dead celebrated author. I've often wondered what people might discover of me when I'm long dead and gone. In going through some old files this weekend, I think I may have gotten a clue.

I vaguely remember one finals week at Georgia Tech and being particularly inclined to procrastinate in my studies. The world will likely never know the outcome of those finals, but now, thanks to my afternoon archeology, the world will forever have a digital preservation of one of my finer literary achievements. I submit to you a short collection of haikus dedicated to that most mystical of meats:

Spam

My kitty and I
Share a delightful repast:
Cabernet and Spam.

Stuff not of this earth:
Delectable angel food?
Alien vomit!

Can I go on? No.
Life has no meaning for me:
My wife ate my Spam.

A long winter’s nap.
My head dances with visions.
Visions of Spam-plums.

Do they distrust you?
Fear you? Hate you , my precious?
They fear your pinkness.

There’s nothing in life
That wouldn’t be made better
With a bit more Spam.

A physicist’s dream
Neither solid nor liquid.
The future is Spam…

Spam saves you time.
There’s no need to digest it;
Glue it to your hips.

My eyes mist over.
I slice another morsel
And think of Gordy.

You seem so secure,
Yet you quiver, as do I.
The humanity.

You can thank me later.