⁹Saran, Saran—innocent it sounds,
But Sirhan Sirhan its name should be,
For it becomes to me as death he was to Kennedy.

Saran Wrap, a tempting name, crafted in subtlety; in truth, its name Saran Trap should be, springing suddenly to snare those who live unwarily.

It promises in bright array to cling and seal, to all made plain, so much superior to Cellophane.

But resting in its clever box with saw-tooth edge so sharp, it hides its guilty soul, and makes all pleasantness to carp.

Its starting point it hides from me; I’m troubled where to begin; at last, I spy the spot and pull and tug to draw it from within.

Alas, I quickly learn the truth; it loves to play and romp. While yet a piece is in my hand, the rest rolls down where my feet are prone to stomp.

A plastic waterfall adorns where once abode but shirt and pants, not meant as garb to wear. ‘Twas but inches I had hoped to tear.

 It’s all that I did need, but now begins the unwanted task of turning back the present greed.

I try to roll it back into its case, but all it does is twist and stick to any unwanted place.

The more I try to flatten and batten it down, the more it causes me to frown, my lips to purse, and form a curse, unuttered but scarcely bound.

I had opened Pandora’s Box, and now to my chagrin, I wasn’t able to find the spot where I could again begin.

Saran had snared me in its grasp. Its nature was to cling to all it met and seal it there within.

And thus, I learned a lesson true, important to recall. Lay aside every weight and remember to grasp that sin by its nature clings to all and keeps the unwary in its clasp.

Let him who reads or hears this call, give heed to this stern warning, lest he be lost and pay the cost of sin’s alluring.