When he’s hungry you simply can’t steer him
Away from the subject of food;
He orates on the matter of oysters
Be they fried, on the half-shell, or stewed.
Forgotten are politics, golfing,
Gridirons, and business-meeting.
He has gone sour on the things of the hour
With the single exception of eating.
When he’s well-stuffed, the story is different:
As I drag him to market with me,
He vacantly stares at the shelves full of wares,
And suggests maybe napkins or tea.
Or at home when I ‘m planning the menus
And I ask for suggestions, please, pet,
“Oh, what the fates bring–just any old thing,”
Is the kind of an answer I get.
And when filled to his ears, another vicious
Habit of his is ignoring the dishes.
by Ray Romine Tuesday, July 11, 1950
