Dave Bonta's poem is a loving defense of scrapple, a food made from pork scraps and cornmeal or buckwheat mush. The speaker starts by listing what goes into it: everything left over once the hams are cured and the sausages stuffed, down to a curly bit of tail. It sounds unappetizing on purpose. The speaker knows scrapple gets mocked, and turns the insult around by aiming it at "weiner-eaters" who like their meat pink and neatly packaged.
What the speaker feels is pride, and a cheerful appetite. Scrapple is called "a square meal the color of earth," honest and filling, the kind of supper you want after a long day. The mood loosens as the poem goes on. The instructions to fry it until it grows "a thick brown skin" and pour on maple syrup build to a playful ending, where "go hog-wild, wallow" invites the reader to enjoy the gray, gritty mush the way a pig might. The tone is funny, earthy, and a little defiant.