Juicing Blues Poem by Jay Loring

Three weeks of juicing, I said!
Whatever got into my head.
It's not very good,
always thinking of food.
So, I think that I'll just go to bed!

Good night!

The worst thing of all is my breath.
It's like something out of Macbeth.
A three-witches brew -
and it smells like it too.
In fact, it smells rather like death!

Egad!

There's no doubt, though, what it can do.
My lab numbers told me that's true.
My doctor was floored,
as my good numbers soared.
And my bad ones just plummeted too.

Yippee!

It's not something you can sustain.
And it's costly enough to maintain.
But if you can endure
this strange form of torture,
there's benefit for you to gain.

For sure!

So, get you a juicing machine.
And you too can look lean and mean.
This is not for the meek,
with a stomach that's weak!
They're the strangest drinks you've ever seen.

It's true!