a sad excuse for a salad,
wilted leaves and slimy greens;
then shared disgust, as ten-minutes late
comes soup to scald and luke-warm wings.
Do you have enough room for what’s next?
Finale of sheer delight,
though perhaps too glorious:
compliments of the chef for the oral burns;
the richness of light-whipped, savory-baked, and frozen-churned
chocolate, all in one, and all for free.
Did any of that even follow your diet?
In between is pure satisfaction:
the meat slab, tender and dripping,
just a hint to the nose of seasonings slight;
the potatoes mashes like mother made,
abundant in cream and lumps.
What else could you want?
You will all find this funny, but this poem has a double meaning for me. It’s totally about the food (mmmm… steeeeeak…), but it’s also about the whole good, evil, neutral thing. To me, evil is the appetizer, always either too cold, too hot, kind of gross, and fills you up before you get to the part of the meal you came for in the first place. The good dessert fills you up farther than you wanted, is almost always bad for you, too rich and savory, and although it makes up for the bad feeling about the appetizer, it brings a bad feeling all its own. The main course, the entree, is just what you needed, what you were waiting for, and is sized just right to fill you up without making you burst. But, you know, that’s just me. ^_^ What about you?