Ode to an Ugly and Unidentifiable New England Squash

All right, someone needs to show me how to align pictures.  I just tried for ten minutes and couldn't figure it out.

(I actually wrote this at our last AKA Scriptores meeting on November 21.)

To say that thou art beauty

Would be to speak amiss

And save it be my duty

You hardly would I kiss,

But since thou art my dinner

Thou plain and homely squash

I'll treat you like a winner

And not with icy frost.

I'll christen you a hero

Of all the side-dish sort

The children will not fear--no--

To put you on their fork!

For though you're stout and pimply

With hue of muckish-green

You're still the best, and, simply,

The only one I've seen.

At first I thought a Hubbard,

But knew that couldn't be

Nor a body-snatcher pod

From that one old movie.

But then I thought, "Who am I?

To put you in a box

Or to confine you inside

A humble-bodied squash?"

For never have I beheld

Your inner squash within

That thick and hard and heavy

And pukish-greenish skin.

Nor can I fully judge you

Until you're cooked and served

And I can at last taste you

And know if you have verve.