There was such an uproar about the hot meal service, that it undermined confidence. Left me a bit nervous.
They forgot not my veggies. On a small round plate, a cucumber salad. Oh, ... wait.
I looked at the salad with incredulity and wonder.
Wondered the cause of this kitchen blunder.
The cuke was frozen, and so was the bun.
(I thought to myself, this lunch is no fun.)
Perhaps this poem will be passed down by oral tradition, Whether I go to Heaven or am mired in Perdition.
Does anyone recognize the handwriting, the content, (or even the meal in question)? The theme of the text seems to point in the direction of a vegetarian. Bonnie? Maybe Mary? Or could it have been written by Arta (when she was on morphine).
A poem in development ...
Arta, was this YOU?!