My pancake Poetry Bus ticket

A ridiculously hard Poetry Bus challenge this week but I managed to come up with something for the first prompt. Write an ode to a pancake in the style of a poet of your choice.

The Raven (-shaped pancake)

Late one night, I was reposing
in my study, lightly dozing,
and thought I heard a curious hissing
emanating from the door.
“That smell is sweet and most bewitchin’,”
I muttered, nasal organ twitchin’.
And as I moved towards the kitchen,
stomach rumbling to the fore,
lo! my taste buds started itchin’
like a hungry Labrador.

I flung the door ajar and stood there,
salivating each taste bud there,
watching Cook propel an object
with an expert-timed southpaw.
Safely in the pan, it sizzled,
this batter with thick egg yolk drizzled,
with spatula now lightly chiselled,
hissing like a beast of yore.
Like a rocket ship it fizzled
with a wild esprit de corps.

“Tell me quickly, Mrs. Brooking,
what is that, that you are cooking?”
I implored the portly servant,
concentrating on her chore.
“Oh, Mr. Poe!” she blurted, wheeling
round, as I came on her, stealing.
In fright, her arm shot to the ceiling,
dispatching that strange orb once more.
“Help me, please!” she begged me, squealing,
as it covered crown to jaw.

Fearful she was suffocating,
I grasped the poker from the grating
and attacked the treacherous creature
with a fierce and rousing roar.
I smote the vermin, hot and spherical.
How many times? ‘Twas unnumerical,
as Mrs. Brooking went hysterical
underneath the batter claw.
Her final words were most unclerical
as she fell, limp, to the floor.

Thus it was with rage and fury
(as I explained long to the jury)
that I killed that evil pancake
as if it were a wild boar.
And now, I sit here, gaunt and sallow,
writing by the candle’s tallow,
gazing out upon the gallow
that my mind’s eye can’t ignore.
They’ll flip me in a grave too shallow,
says my guard, with loud guffaw.