The Mystery Dish
Please remove the parsnips from my sight.
Their presence is a personal affront,
arousing queasy guests to sudden flight—
and is that rabbit, or a nouvelle stunt?
Perhaps it's just a random act of spite,
revenge, or else the carcass of a runt.
One dinner I attended seated thirty,
and at each place appeared a pair of prongs
with which to nibble what appeared half-dirty
and what another guest picked up with tongs
and ventured to the kitchen to abandon.
(The host employed a temp to act as stand-in.)
The entities they serve these days are legion
and if I had a choice, a liquid diet
from any but the most distinctive region
would banish hunger and avert a riot.
Terese
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