I must go down to the kitchen again,
To the lonely stove and the fridge;
And all I\’ll eat is a slice of toast.
Or maybe a rasher or two…
A couple of eggs, a tin of beans,
A Cornish sausage or three,
And mushrooms, tomatoes, black pudding, fried bread
And bubble-n-squeak from last night.
We need coffee and tea and freshly-squeezed juice,
(Vodka to pep up the juice)
Marmelade and… oh yes. The toast.
Shall I wake up the others or eat it myself?
No. Today they can all lie in.
A triumph of group poetry, I feel – we had a great time at the Poetry of Food evening on Friday. Many thanks to all who turned up, ate cake and made it such fun.