In the Cafeteria
By Gary Wittmann
October 21, 2003©
All rights reserved.
Our school lunch is---really, what can I say.
Something, there in line, that we dread each day.
Our mighty cook wears a bright blue hair net.
Tattoos on her arms hearts-shaped “ I Love Brett.”
We walk through the line with trays in our hands.
We take what she gives us, on her commands.
On Monday the meatballs could break your teeth.
Next day, the spinach, your funeral wreath.
Wednesday is no better, pizza and corn.
It is like baby food, day you were born.
Thursday is Chili, soup to make you strong.
In the soup was a fly singing a song.
Friday, the Fish tastes like gasoline.
The huge salad bar will give you gangrene.
We always came back and back for school lunch.
There had to better food at breakfast brunch.
And so the cook‚…
She dishes it out and grins with her one tooth.
She stood behind the booth and told the truth.
We all went by amaze in single file.
“See what this food has done for my great smile.”
