Popcorn Pops you Know

A kernel of golden smoothed popcorn,
forcefully held.
Jumping
though easy, impossible
Whose temperance is measured by a desired
patience
yet still is held over

A flame with a fire creeping

Over a shoulder

Whose presence is detected by radiance

Of the unwanted entity:
yet
still nagged by
to the point where
blooming in full, full
white petals tinged with pollen butter

But rather whose light is shut off

and put to dark
Ceasing blossoms and cooled core put again to the omniscient Sun
whose fire turns the golden
oily kernel to a dull, drab kernel besetting its moments to flourish – dipped in rain
Warmed by bath and shot into a simmering tinkling rain

Given the opportunity
Neglected
Who’s regretted any chance and still held by the feet
The unbearable
Uncomfortable
leaming
threat of fire
and heat
and again who is pulled from the boiling water
Frog
and lives to see the next trial of inability
or ineptitude
Whose skin has become boiled
and sloughed
ready to be offed or the kernels own

Appearance blackened by every torturing momentous climax of black, charred, and
dulled appearance and soaking in the boiling oil of every disappointment it’s
come to know as a kernel

Of Corn,
whose only bloom
or flourish
-Was not
Of popcorn-
is the removal from
said situation, staining residual effect of its black, oily remnants, rolling around in the
Trash
Pail on some scrapped piece of paper.