The Retort of An Angry Cook: Men with such Waist Bands


The lid off the tin of cabbage has been lifted
The farmer's wife has said she was thrift-ed
I suppose you now want carrot soup
For lunch

You are hungry for a variety
Tis my hunch

Now grow your own
Go sow your own

The horticulturist sings
Whose wife's
Whose soup
Who's tongue still stings

A stitch in the Seamstress daughter's
hand
Would enlarge a sudden
And tightened; fattened Waistband

It gladdens my heart so
To see you say you love me so

But how be it I cannot ask a favour
Without a laden Spoon
Upon an earthen ware
Frothing with one of your favourite flavours


A tick for tact
Your Grumpa's sneer
Of whose grumpy advances
I must also be wary

I fear this triangular
Relationship
Shall task my angst
And manage-ship


And therefore I must let
You learn

That not all chores, not all deeds
Not all works, Not all earn


But such is the endeavour
With which you can