In memoriam of a gathering of friends...

The Last Supper (A Co-write with Liola Lee

It started out, a meal for two
But before too long, the numbers grew;
From four to five, to six to eight,
Another five, that sounded great!

Now thirteen people, one small place,
All eagerly waiting to stuff their face.
Me thinks, we'll hold a barbecue,
For what, could possibly go askew?

I really had no anticipation,
Of the time needed, for food preparation,
But thought with my ignorance and culinary skill,
I'd make everyone a superlative meal.

With hours to go, no food yet prepared,
The cook and the sous chef now running scared.
The cook he drank, yet another cold beer,
Thinking somehow, that his head would stay clear.

The more he drank, the more he stressed,
The time pending feast, arrival of guests;
But where was the sous chef? Away at the stable,
Picking up children, to help, she's unable.

The guests arrived, two by two,
And as they did, the panic grew;
Chef hadn't even changed his shirt,
Yet alone thought, about dessert.

Sous chef returned in the nick of time,
To assist Chef in his culinary crime;
Unable to get him out of his mess,
Whilst trying to play perfect hostess.

All at once, an apparition,
Enter Wotty, the Great Magician;
Who conjured up, a skewer or two,
While Chef conjured up another fine brew.

With a party like this, things did n't move slow
And, almost immediately, they started to go;
The first to take up their trainers and run,
Was dear little Nico, exemplary son? (Not ours of course)

The numbers now reduced by one,
Perhaps now, we could have some fun.
It was n't to be, more trouble in store,
Why the surprise? It was only Sod's Law.

Our dearest friend Karen, with her dog bereft,
Wept under the Willow, then duly left.
All were saddened to see her go,
But being professional, " On with the Show!"

The food, now was flowing and so was the wine,
The coffee was everyone's, the whiskey was mine (Steve's)
Now everyone fed, and Chef now relaxed,
All running smoothly as legs that are waxed.

While laughing at fools, you just get the feel,
A few of us really, were at a Thai meal.
Alcoholic contentment, an evening well spent,
Where laughter and bitching, make close souls content.

The moral of this gastromical fable,
Don't fill your mouth with more than you're able.
Gluttons for punishment, nine out of ten,
The Chef and the Sous Chef will do it again!

Poetry by stevelee
Read 847 times
Written on 2007-06-11 at 13:03

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Kathy Lockhart
I love this! I enjoyed every verse, every occassion, every stress, every morsel of delight. Great writing from the two of you. How's the head and tummy after all that imbibing and chowing down?