Menu, Unaware of Lurking
I can't abide a burnt-up pie
I simply won't and I know why
I guess my tastebuds know their limit
I'll take the stupid pie and skim it
I never liked an overfilled omelette
(Even when cooked by Tom Glett),
A divers catch of abalone
Makes my breakfast much more stony
I feel disgust for meat too rare
One glimpse of blood will drive me spare
Spare ribs, that is, for those I like.
Do I mean that? I'm not a pike!
A pike's a fish I don't condone
Because it lacks a funny-bone:
I do like kiwi, I always will
(Unless my dear mama they should kill)
She always made my favorite cake
With twenty cod and thirteen hake
Three currants and a burnt éclair
Made from clippings from my hair
So, porridge then will be my staple
Drenched in syrup made from maple
Oozing so sweetly down my chin
Maple porridge, the original sin
Contributors: | Apsley, Modeus, dan, Beefy, dkb, Brooke. |
Poem finished: | 13th March 2002. |