He pointed at the pinto beans
and said, “Pinto beans.”
So I’m doing this to make him happy,
though I don’t know what he means.
All I know is they’re small and round,
and in a bag of many.
And if they’re ever cooked one night,
I’m sure there will be plenty.
They can be very tasty,
even though they cause gas.
But I hope when the room is crowded,
the moment will not last.
If this poem of pinto beans
makes no sense to you,
ask my friend David about it.
He’s the one who told me to.

9-24-89 Written by Gail Brookshire
(by the grace of God)
PS. Homey (aka David) challenged me to write a poem about pinto bans. 😉