A shout out

Photo by EKATERINA BOLOVTSOVA on Pexels.com
A shout out

Let us have a shout out
For the little green sprout,
Without them, a Christmas it's not.
Each succulent winner,
The best part of dinner,
Though Grandson would sooner eat snot.

Pass the pasta

Photo by Klaus Nielsen on Pexels.com
Pass the pasta

Farfalle, farfalline,
macaroni, rigatoni,
lasagne, fettuccine,
lumache, linguine.

Spaghetti, spaghettini,
tortelli, tortellini,
capelli, capellini,
ravioli, rotini.

Manicotti, tortelloni,
a-load-of-old-poni,
vermicelli, bucatini,
tasti-the-same-to-me.

A cockney delicacy

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com
A cockney delicacy

If ever I feel
the urge to eat eel,
then, please hit me over the head.
They are slimy and smelly
and just cos they're jellied.
why on earth would I eat one that's dead?

The disturbing case of the straight banana

Photo by Vanessa Loring on Pexels.com
The disturbing case of the straight banana

I went to the shops
to buy something saleable,
it was Aldi, by chance,
there are others available.

A need for some bits,
no intention of stopping,
like most modern men
I'm allergic to shopping.

Narrowly avoiding
a three-cart collision,
attracted to something
in peripheral vision,

all on their own,
one ripe bunch of bananas,
strange fellows these,
not from the Bahamas.

They were straight as a rod,
yes straight as a die.
I had to have them,
though I didn't know why.

Dauphy, impressed
said, "My word bwana,
that has to be
the world's straightest banana."

I tickled the web
to find why they were straight,
a small paragraph
at the end of page eight

told all that I needed.
The fruit had been bred
to fit extra in boxes 
so that more could be fed.

Genetically modified!
I don't like G.M
and in a bit of a huff,
I wrote the P.M.

Investigation would follow,
nothing dismissive,
only three short years later
I got a curt missive.

The G.M banana
had been a mistake,
which, with one yellow paper
the rules they'd remake.

My banana complaint
had struck a raw nerve,
I could unwind, assured
from now on. they'd be curved.

With a song in my heart,
to the shops I now went,
sure as eggs come from chooks
that my fruit would be bent.

There, on the fruit aisles
bent bananas, woohoo!
A commonsense victory
but here's something new...

When I thought all the problems
had been put to bed
the entire fruit and veg range
was bright, postbox red.

Food of love

Photo by Monstera on Pexels.com
Food of love

when you depart
go overseas
you leave my heart
like melted cheese

on your return
to this fair coast
for you I'll burn
some honeyed toast

A question of taste

Photo by Valeriya Kobzar on Pexels.com
A question of taste

A spoonful of quinoa?
No thanks, I'm not keen, moi.
but, a fat, juicy steak,
now that, I'll partake.

I don't mind the veggie,
but let's not be regi-
mental about it,
I can live without it.

Jam sandwiches and chip butties

Photo by Engin Akyurt on Pexels.com
Jam sandwiches and chip butties

When we were kids
we were poor,
Dickensian poor.
Food poverty
meant an existence
alternating between
jam sandwiches and chip butties.
Luxury was
bangers, mash and rice pud
on pay day.

One night,
I did a charity swim
at school,
which raised a few bob.
A fortune to us.
Mum asked me to lend her it
and she would pay me back
on pay day.
I did.
She didn't.

Was that stealing?
Probably?
Of course it was,
but a bigger crime
was not paying dad
a decent wage
for policing the streets
of our dirty city,
so that he could feed his family
something other than
jam sandwiches and chip butties.

Eating in bed

Photo by Rachel Claire on Pexels.com
Eating in bed

I've a wart on my todger!
You silly old codger.
I'm not look, I'll show you, it's there!
You fool, that's a crumb.
Soon flicked off with my thumb,
Crikey, thank you, that gave me a scare!

Brain Food

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
Brain Food

Alphabetti
Spaghetti
in your bowels
make vowels!

Bird Table

Photo by Magda Ehlers on Pexels.com
Bird Table

This table is the pits,
It always disappoints,
The food here gives me squits,
It's such a seedy joint.
%d bloggers like this: