OK - I've scrabbled through the Eratospherical pocket-fluff on your behalf. You got an hon mensh.

I've won The Oldie and The Speccie with the same poem! (The comps were a year or so apart.)
Either they don't compare notes, which I can't believe, or they don't mind awarding duplicate prizes.

Jayne

I don't see why you shouldn't do what Jayne did. But It appears I haven't. Thank you, Ann. My motto is, if you can sell it, then you can sell it again.

Just wrote this, but I now see it's too late for the deadline.


PIZZA

Life's a greasy pizza pie.
You eat it up then wonder why
you don't have any pizza left.
You're sad. You burp and feel bereft,
wishing that life had been a challah
or maybe a bowl of tikka masala,
something elegant, something classy,
better than pizza, not as gassy.
But it's too late. Though you regret
your life was not a crepe suzette,
at least you ate, albeit crap.
Now comes the after-dinner nap.

Hilarious, Jayne!
(Though serious, of course.)
And good observation too; true to the literal-mindedness often seen in children's responses.

Very poignant one that, John!
It strikes me as one of those poems that go about doing significant work in the world while they also entertain; helping us to observe (in this case) not to be swift to judge.
Thanks for sharing it!

Dear John,

Ann scrabbled through
The pocket-fluff
On your behalf:
You got an hon mensh, true.

Though not a 'win',
Your poem's good;
I think you should
(Once again) sent it in.

Go on!