“Beets, beets, they give me the creeps”.
Yes I know they’re fantastic with taters and leeks.
And their colour enlivens your bangers and mash.
I’ve even heard tell of beets served with hash.
Their merits are clear and possess nothing but grace
A veggie of worth to adopt and embrace.
A taste that to some comes close to sublime
With a signature colour, like the green of a lime.
There’s no wonder they’re loved, rock stars of the table
Masters at heightening our senses’ appraisal.
I’d almost be willing to give them my vote
As best in their class, were it not for my quote.
Here’s the scenario, the one you imagine:
You’ve guests in for dinner and you’re considering salmon.
You think why not with beets? They’ll taste fine with the latter.
You’re seduced by their colour, it’ll stimulate chatter.
What a splendid idea! ‘Twill be a glorious dinner!
Equally fit for a Queen or a sinner.
Come to think of it now, that’s not much of a gap.
But it’s the image that counts, so don’t give me no crap.
The evening goes smoothly, all the more to abide
By pleasant sensations that effectively hide
The unseen repercussions on your convives’ digestion
While benign in the end, will be cause for sensation.
Here comes the crunch, like the gift of a horse
That hides a dark side, like the web or the force.
Our subject’s real nature, that no one suspects
Is revealed with a vengeance in tomorrow’s toilettes.
The part that’s pernicious, that most gets me upset
Is how something so natural, just what you’d expect
Can set you on fire and get you to gasp
“Good Chricky almighty, get a doctor and fast!”
The cause of your panic, the reason you fear
That you’re bleeding to death and your demise is near
Disappears with the flush that you’d put into action
Before catching the colour that set off the reaction.
You’re desperate to think you imagined it all.
It happened so fast, could have been a bad call.
A chromatic aberration, a trick of the mind
“I’ll have my eyes checked, lest I’m colour blind”.
But that doesn’t assuage the feelings of dread
That rise to the surface and boil in your head.
You’re tragically sick, the only thought that gives promise
Is that medical science might offer some solace.
As you dress in a funk, you make plans in your head.
Don’t let on to your spouse, keep your morass unsaid.
Best keep it a secret, till the worst is confirmed.
The results of the scans and the tests all been learned.
There’ll be time for reflection, for repenting your sins
“God, I hope I can last till the Playoffs begin!”
Your plan is to act as if nothing occurred.
During breakfast you banter, but of your plight not a word.
“Good morning my dear” greets your sweet better half.
You answer with stoic good humour and laugh.
“The evening was great, I enjoy food with friends.
— Yes, she replies, as she tucks into her eggs.
The salmon was tasty, though I thought it a shame
That so little attention be paid to the frame.
— Do tell what’s to fault with a menu so sweet.
— It’s the colour, she answers, salmon with beet.
In a rush your mind races through the colours of the spectre.
You rise from your chair and lunge fast to embrace her.
Saying “Eureka, my darling, you’re the cream of the lot.
Of the evening we spent, I admit I forgot
An important legume that was part of the meal
And that caused me to think that my future was sealed.
A guy can’t remember all the things that he eats
And that can be dicey, when you’re dealing with beets.”
Therein lies the danger with this devious root
Having colour so bright and such redness to boot.
The taste may be sweet and the texture devine
Just mind you accept this with these warnings of mine.
Forgetting your ingest can be hard on the pump
When you happen to glance at your morning dump.
I’d suggest a small poster with the following scripts:
“Beets, be warned, beets, they can give you the creeps”
Beeter
