Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Gummy Bears

Gummy Bears
by Gideon Burton

The gumminess of gummy bears is vital:
too warm, too soft, they're but a viscous goo.
The opposite needs no profound recital:
too old, too hard, as tasty as my shoe.
One's teeth must squeeze and pierce, and yet rebound
(a tangy sweet's released as form resists).
The candy abdomens no longer round,
saliva's fast corrosions will insist.
At times they're squirming, squeaking as they die.
If so, their passing souls unmask all flavor.
Their little limbs dismembered seem quite spry.
Who'd think that amputations had such savor?
    My mouth has conquered zoos of hapless bears,
    and will again: no other sport compares.

Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - Rachel Lake


  1. Gummi peaches, on the other hand, are actualy pretty good a little on the dry side.

    Or at least that's what I told myself when I had some from my dad and siblings as a kid and found them three months later.

  2. I don't think I will ever be able to eat gummy bears again. :)

  3. See, that's just it. The glory of food shaped like innocent animals. Biting a head off, a leg. That's why gingerbread men are so much fun. I get to take all my hostilities out on them -- to truly express my dark side.

    My mom once gave me a giant, licorice-flavored gummy rat. The body was about six inches long. I can't express how I savored that first bite. Me against the rat. Uh oh! He lost his head. I guess that means I won.

  4. The only thing better than eating them is dipping them in chocolate fondue. And then eating them.