Banquet’s Ghost

Thrice I went to buffet table,
thrice I piled my plate with food;
rumble gut: ’tis time, ’tis time.

Round about the table go,
on the salad croutons throw.
Dressing high in oils and fat,
add a little more of that.
Toss in olives, nuts and cheese
and yes, I’ll take more dressing please.

Double, double toil and trouble
heart doth burn and gut doth bubble.
Fillet of a juicy lamb,
then I’ll add some candied yam
T-bone steak and breast of duck.
lobster Newburg—I’m in luck!
Baked potatoes, cobs of corn
drip with butter (food as porn!).
But my meal’s not yet completed
nor my appetite defeated.

Double, double toil and trouble
My belly feels it’s filled with rubble.
Ribs with sauce and mushrooms stuffed.
I never think I’ve had enough.
Leg of turkey, grilled hot dog:
rooting like a starving hog
in the buffet’s tempting dishes,
food fulfills my wildest wishes.
Here’s dessert cart borne by waiter,
death by chocolate now or later?
Crêpes are topped with flaming cherries,
cheesecake’s graced by fat red berries,
cream-filled puffs and ice cream sundaes—
What the hell—I’ll diet Monday.
Now my stomach’s overflowing.
Sorry, friends, I must be going.
Something wicked this way comes
unless I find my roll of Tums.