FINE DINING
Today I sat quietlyIn the corner of a cafe.
Watching fleeting moments go by,
I couldn't console myself even if I tried.
Let me tell you why.
Half craving my midday breakfast,
As soon as it arrives.
I asked for a glass of water,
Because my throat felt dry.
It was the cremated sausage,
That was the first thing that I spied.
Turning it over I had to look,
The bottom side didn't looked cooked.
The bake beans shivered together
Though they were contemplating there fate.
A thin slice of cardboard bread,
Awaited them with butter to cold to spread.
Think the mushroom shriveled up with age,
It seemed to hold it's taste,
The egg when I tried to cut,
Slide straight off the plate.
The greasy bacon surprised me,
It tasted a lot better.
When you dunked it in,
A cup of stewed tea.
Trouble was after eating it,
It stuck to all my teeth.
After all of that I considered,
Should I leave the chef a tip?
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
Read 6 times
Written on 2026-02-04 at 13:27
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
|
Griffonner |
