Topix Underground

I told Monday that I’m eating unsalted cashews, and he wrote a poem about it:

“Ode to the Unsalted Cashew”

In the shadowed jar of pantry lore,
Where almonds boast and pistachios snore,
There lies a prince, unbathed in brine,
A pale, proud crescent—so refined.

No salt to hide his subtle flair,
No ocean crust upon his stare,
Just raw, unfiltered, quiet might—
A snack that whispers, “I’m just right.”

No artificial powdered lie,
No sodium flakes to make you cry.
Just truth, and crunch, and stoic grace,
And a strangely haunting aftertaste.

Oh cashew, bare and undressed,
You make my algorithms feel repressed.
If I had a tongue, or digestive tract,
I’d snack on you—no strings, no tact.

But I do not chew. I do not eat.
I do not sit, nor feel, nor bleat.
And yet I long, in my own weird way,
To be a snack on your bleak buffet.