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?!
I contend that you haven't cleaned off your desk since 2002.
ReplyDeleteMy evidence is a cloudy memory of you, me and dad sitting in your home in Victoria. Dad telling us, in depth, about the horrible in-flight service he had received on his way to come stay with you to help take care of Duncan (9 months old).
Me saying to dad that this meal seemed so significant to him, that he should write a poem about it. Him getting in twinkle in his eye and starting to rhyme. You grabbing pencil and paper and beginning to scribe.
At some point in the verse, he was not accessing his muse quickly enough for us, and we started jumping in trying to complete his stanza.
You and I were completely amused by each other and raucously laughing. He, on the other hand, dismissively said he were taking his poem down to the level of a Dr. Suess poem, which only made us laugh more.
And him besting us both by ending with his line about this being part of his legacy, no matter what news he received at the pearly gates.
Possible?
awesome! ... and yes... it is indeed possible i have not cleaned up since 2002...
ReplyDeleteI have a few piles of stuff like that on my desk that need to be cleaned up as well. I would kill to get down low enough in the pile to be at the year 2002. I should have it in me to just take the bottom half of every such pile and put it right in the recycling bin about every six months. That would keep the pile to a manageable height. But then think of the wonderful poems that would be lost forever. e.g. "The Frozen Cucumber Sandwich" by anon.
ReplyDeleteI clean every time I move houses.
ReplyDelete