Katie’s Lament

I don’t want to appear bitchy,
I fear I seem to be quite rude.
It’s just that I’m here starving,
And Mom won’t share her food.

Mom is a diabetic,
She’s very careful what she eats,
So, I just help her control portions,
By consuming any vegetables or meats.

(Especially meats.)

She screams that she’s not sharing.
“This food is just for me!”
Hey, calm your britches, lady.
Try some vodka in your tea.

Mom gave me some dog biscuits,
It’s the only snack I’ve had.
I hate to sound ungrateful,
But I can get those things from Dad.

(Cough up the meat, lady.)

I’ll need a wee distraction,
Perhaps a knock upon the door.
Then, I slightly bump the table,
And the pepperoni’s on the floor.

I’ve never seen her face that color.
It’s not like I ate it all.
I just saved you some carbohydrates,
And the rest is down the hall.

(If you can find it.)

I finally filled my belly,
I think I’ll take a nap.
But first, I’m going outside,
So I can take a … walk.

(Mmmm.. Pepperoni.)

British Food

This pie has meat.
Savory, not sweet.
Pie with meat that’s not quiche.

This pudding is almost cake.
You don’t cook it, you bake.
And Yorkshire pudding
Requires brown gravy and onions.

The beer is warm (and it’s really ale.)
Other drinks have little ice without fail.
So, sadly, no iced tea, except in bottles.

I guess since ice brought the Titanic down,
They don’t gather too much ice around.
Like in a glass.

Fries are really chips,
And chips are really crisps.
Other than that,
It’s just like home.

Oh. Except over here,
Spotted Dick needs ice cream,
And not penicillin.