Sorry, a pet hate of mine - why they bring the bleedin' toast before they bring your fry...
Oh toast rack, venerable silver toast rack,
how you inspire a heaviness in my heart.
Upon this pristine white tablecloth, thou art
placed and the young waitress smiles and we smile back.
But, adorned with toast, triangular and warm,
your deep crenellations, to my mind, suggest
the fort in the desert in that film Beau Geste,
where Robert Preston fools the infidel storm
by propping up the now lifeless legionnaires
in the battlements. And so my lips turn black,
for I know too well, stately, shining toast rack,
that thy oh so tempting and warm-scented wares
will doubtless be cold and hard and dead and dry
by the time I have finished eating my fry.
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