Crunchy Stanzas, Runny Cheese

Today is Bad Poetry Day, which is basically a free pass to commit literary crimes and still call it culture. Naturally, I’ve aimed my terrible quill straight at nachos, because if anyone deserves tragic metaphors and bad rhymes, it’s a pile of chips drowning in cheese. Brace yourself, here comes the queso-stained sonnet you never asked for:

Crunchy Stanzas, Runny Cheese

O nachos, titans of tortilla, lords of the plate,
Your crunch is eternal, your cheese is my fate.
I found you at midnight, beneath a fridge light,
Half-stale, half-glorious, a questionable bite.

The cheese drips down like tears from a teenage diary,
Guacamole dolloped carelessly, green and gooey, entirely.
Jalapeños scream their fiery sonnet in my throat,
While sour cream blobs look like clouds on a sinking boat.

And when I am finished, I stare at the tray,
The shame sets in heavy, yet I cannot stay away.
Tomorrow I’ll crawl back, it’s disgusting, it’s true—
Because who needs dignity when there are nachos like you?

Some holidays inspire greatness. Others inspire Hallmark cards. And then there’s Bad Poetry Day, which inspires… this. If you’ve made it this far, congratulations—you’ve suffered for art, the nacho way.