Roy Blount, Jr. (star of all sorts of things like Wait, Wait... Don't Tell Me, Prairie Home Companion, and many others) wrote two small books of very light verse almost 20 years ago: Soupsongs and Webster's Ark. These books are combined into one small volume that you flip over to read the second book. I've heard him read some of his poems and he's got a fine, deep, mellifluous voice dripping with Southern accent that makes the poems come off the page and dance around in one's forebrain. But even without the layer of auditory pleasure that his voice adds, I'd like to quote two of my favorites from these books to persuade you that you, too, should go buy this fine collection of silliness:
From Webster's Ark:
Has tusks in the male
And a bilobate tail
And appears in the following song:
"Camptown Racetrack five miles long,
How sweet it is to kiss the hand which
Holds a chicken salad sandwich.
Wonder product, chicken skin!
Tans while holding moisture in.
So often, here's the taste report of
Epicures: "Like chicken, sort of."
Ever wonder who the dickens
Joined the comic and schmaltz in chickens?
Nothing cuts a broader swath
Through the blues than chicken broth.
You know who's my fondest dream?
You, suffused with chicken steam.
I mean, how can you not be inspired by an Ode to Grits that includes the couplet:
Grits at taps, grits at reveille.
I am into grits real heavily.
Go get it. It's fun.