This little gem of poem cracked me up (by A.E. Stallings, in “Cast Irony”):
Who scrubbed this iron skillet
In water, with surfactant soap,
Meant to cleanse, not kill it,
But since its black and lustrous skin|
Despoiled of its enrobing oils,|
Dulled, lets water in,
Now it is vulnerable and porous
As a hero stripped of his arms
Before a scornful chorus.
