For this of the Chicago Afternoons, we
Talk of injustice and pączki.
For those of you who read my tales
You might have seen my shtick
Of prevarications and prevails
To avoid a pushy psychic.
After I spun the mystic some dross,
Telling her I’d come back,
My stomach started to churn and toss,
And I spent two straight days in the sack.
Now the science heart beneath my breast
Says the smelly cream at a Starbuck
Was a more likely cause of my unrest
Than curse, hex, jinx or subpar luck.
But as I moaned and ached and whined,
And as I’m an unworthy sinner,
I knew through mystic knowledge divined:
That soothsayer gave me the Thinner.
By Monday a.m. at 8:30
I was back at work and fine.
But my diet was saltines, ginger ale and tea,
A situation I now must malign.
For Tuesday would be Pączki Day,
A bounteous fest of wealth.
And Chicagoans celebrate the Chicago Way:
With zero concern for their health.
They are doughnuts, oh yes, sweet sugary joys
Of lard, powdered sugar and filling.
A pre-Lenten splurge for Catholic boys,
One I could enjoy, stomach willing.
“Poonch-key” is how pączki you pronounce.
Health-wise, it’s equal to shiv hits.
If the weird Polish spelling you wish to denounce,
Go drown your sorrow in Żywiec.
Although you can get your pączki at Jewel
Or other fine, regional grocers,
If shopping local is what you find cool,
Why not try Dinkel’s or Roeser’s?
It’s Chicago and ‘burb, both Lutz and Old Warsaw.
The treat knows no city border!
Parks Orland and Oak, Pol-Mart and more saw
Listings in no special order.
Delightful, Swedish, Calumet —
All saw a pączki crowd scurry.
Are there more? Oh, you bet!
Try Weber’s, Racine and Scafuri.
There’s Bennison’s, Andy’s, Bridgeport, Laramie,
Kolatek’s, Dunajec, Oak Mill.
There’s Beverly, Reuter’s, Ingram’s Busy Bee,
Sweet World, Szymanski and still.
There’s Sweet Connection, Ideal and Alliance.
Vesecky’s just could not be sweeter.
And I might as well toss in, for yuppie compliance,
Glazed and Do-Rite to finish the meter.
I likely missed some, and for others picked wrong.
The best spot, I just don’t know which is.
But I’m trying, dear sirs, in my pastry-based song.
And you rhyme Kurowski’s & Rich’s!
A pączek’s so good — I think I love prune
Though the strawberry filled is divine.
But my upset tummy-tum, my internal monsoon,
Has denied me my treat. (Whine, whine, whine.)
Like wedding-day rain or Chardonnay flies,
That old song might say it’s ironic.
But Alanis don’t know what that word implies.
This is evil, perverse — it’s chthonic!
Lent has begun, so for austerity’s sake
These treats are no more to be had.
That’s OK for some; the forced rarity makes
Me want pączki more, want it bad.
Goodbye Pączki Day. To dine would have been keen,
If my innards weren’t antagonistic.
But a word to the wise for P-Day ’17:
Avoid both Starbucks and that mystic.
I once won a journalism award for this site. Weird, huh?
I missed Pączki Day 2014 as well
And I sometimes write poems about campaign financial disclosures too
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