It's Come To This

 It’s Come To This

It’s come to this…a poet with nothing of note on his list.

Why do thoughts turn to food when I’m in this wordless mood?

Well, both are fulfilling, are they not…bon mots and what’s in the pot.

So, faithful - I hope - reader, without further adieu, here’s what I have to offer you…

I have a hunch that, for brunch or lunch, there’ll be a bunch of food with crunch,

washed down with punch.

Or maybe something quite quirky, like turkey jerky.

Or a caboodle of noodles, and, for dessert, strudel.

The left-overs can go to our poodle.

I have a kettle of metal to cook them in.

Of course, noodles are like petals of nettle before you boil them.

I’ll also throw in some peas, if you please, and, when done, top it with cheese.

As they said in the old days, “It’s the bee’s knees!”

One might ask: is there a reason for this rhyme?

Please be patient.

I’ll be back on my game in time.