An Ode to Stuff

Stuff stuffs all sorts of stuff into 5 letters and a shrug.
It says it all. It’s brimming with implications and possibilities.

Is it the tastes-like-chicken crutch of the lazy and inarticulate?
Or is it the magic wildcard in that almost-winning hand?

I’m pomp-lite; my shirt isn’t starched or stuffed.
I love stuff, it’s friendly and always there, like a perky stray.
‘Stuff’ alone may be just another baseball cap on a South-side redneck,
but, paired with a pleasing puzzle of words, it’s a Duff Beer cap on a tuxedo;
the fun fundamental, the chewing gum at a funeral, the subtle skew to ground a haughty view.
Yes, I love the word.
I do.
So sue me and stuff.