In the house the meal is viewed,
The steak is cooked, the beer is brewed,
The pies are cooled, the flies are shooed,
And in the dark, the tale is bright.

Some truth is ever what we seek,
But when it’s found our souls grow weak,
The mind goes blank, the path was bleak
That brought us to this meal so crude.

But bit by bit and bite by bite,
Some madness serves to speed our plight
Into the wrong or brand new right,
The power of the strong o’er meek.

For in the barn the old cow mooed,
And on the hay the day seemed skewed,
The day the beast for seconds rued,
The day that turned too soon to night.

We chopped in half the luscious leek
And found inside a snidely streak.
The denouement precedes the peak
In this, the tale I once eschewed.

It’s not a poem to move, excite,
Or celebrate the strength and might
Of those who pass the human rite,
But just a tribute to the weak.

So now we dine; no longer speak,
The story’s yours to bend and tweak.
The beef’s a brood, the basil, blight,
But that’s the food we eat tonight.