Requiescat in pace, table salt and pepper. Your tabletop life was spicy. Your underground existence will be even more so.
These cruel condiments denying my olfactory senses — crying! —
By their absence, so withholding flavor by which food’s restored,
“Though mere salt and pepper shakers, thou,” I said, “art sure no fakers,
Playing dead as though thy maker banished thee to be ignored —
When wilt thou return to grace the cafe tables as before?”
Quoth the shakers “Nevermore.”