Pork Roast Prose inspired by Punxsutawney Phil

Last night I made a pork roast, revenge dish for the hog

Who said he saw no shadow and popped back in his log.

While all across the country we looked for signs of spring —

A bud, a shoot, a puddle, the robins that could sing.

But all we found was winter — the icy, windy kind

and shoveling each morning became our daily grind.

I’ll get him back, said I as I began to prep my kraut

I topped it with a hunk of pork, take that you fickle lout!

I seasoned it a little, then sealed it in my crock

and left for work quite smugly thinking slow cookers just rock!

Alas that nasty rodent got the best of me again

when I realized hours later, I forgot to plug it in.

Well played, Punxsutawney, well played.

C'mon Pugsatawny Phil! We can't welcome spring if the mounds of snow bury our birdhouse!
C’mon Punxsutawney Phil! We can’t welcome spring if the mounds of snow bury our bird house!
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I missed the wafts of good roasted pork smell that usually greet me when I walk in the door from work, but it took real detective work to discover the source of the non-smell. Apologies for the 26-year old crock pot, but she’s served me well…when I plug her in
Groundhog 2013
It’s possible we offended the groundhogs this year by doing such a lousy job of sending out our annual cards. I’m posting it here to make amends and to let all of our friends and family who didn’t receive one this year know that we just dropped the ball. We’ll get you next year. Hear that Groundhogs? We’re sorry. Now make winter stop!
Really, winter, you can stop now.
Really, winter, you can stop now.

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