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Prayer to Prometheus

I can smell the lighter fluid in the air already as I step out on the back porch to watch my neighbor “barbecue.”

I bite my tongue, and don’t bother to tell him that barbecue is not a verb, and what he’s fixing to do is called grilling,

or more properly,

a hate crime.


I and the rest of the true keepers of the flame apologize on behalf of this idiot,

for he knows not what he does.

You would think that since you paid the price of eternal torment to give us the gift,

folks would learn to use it properly,

Giver of flame,

forgive him.

Categories: Poetry
  1. July 8, 2010 at 4:17 am

    Nice job with the prompt. Very well done. Like the consistent tone of this and the nice balance of humor and indignation.

  2. July 8, 2010 at 6:50 am

    I loved the humour here…and again…your work and writing twist my heart. Bravo!! ~ Amanda

  3. dustus
    July 8, 2010 at 8:51 pm

    LOL Enjoyed the sarcasm and allusion in your poem. thanks

  4. July 12, 2010 at 12:46 am

    Oh, this is great and clever.

    Loved it.


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