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My Grimy Grill

My grimy grill,
Is really quite,
Summer’s delight,
And if used right,
Is very much a thrill.

It’s not just meat,
That’s off the hook,
For if you look,
You’ll see I cook,
My veggies over heat.

The greasy grates,
They hold the food,
That will conclude,
With gratitude,
Once I put onto plates.

The fires burn,
On down below,
And cooking slow,
My grilling row,
As I do often turn.

The grease had grown,
Up over time.
And made the climb,
To turn to grime,
From what the grates have shown.

And when I’m done,
I step aside.
And feel inside,
A source of pride,
I find second to none.

Copyright © Jd Maxwell




Book: Shattered Sighs