It's a testimony to my unfortunate emotional connection with junk food that it's even sneaking into my poems! Here's a silly little one, and believe me, the peanut butter is just incidental, a useful rhyme.
"It's not about the Peanut Butter"
I had a dream last night of Prince Charming,
who was charming, but hardly more charming than me.
In my dream I was talking and laughing.
I was shmoozing the birds from the tree.
I was so charismatic in dream-world.
Everyone in the room loved the dream-me.
If my friends wanted PBJ's crunchy,
it was fine, for I never stocked creamy.
My dream-self loved parties and mingling.
Never bored was my slick alter ego.
Ever thrilled with back-slapping and joking,
I was never without an amigo.
I woke and went straight to my cupboard -
that board stacked with cups just for me.
I sight at reality dreary -
me alone and some creamy PB.
I guess I'm just feeling a bit lonely!