--A poetic apology for arriving in class late after an interminable wait for our food to arrive
What did we order that they had to kill?
Are they plucking the chicken for my soup?
Milking the cow to make the cheese for Donna’s burger?
Growing the lettuce for the salad?
Heading south of the border for the tortillas in Julia’s soup?
How long does it take for Jim Beam to cure?
Check please! I’ll take mine to go.
-Oh, the memories! My lunchmates and I wrote this on our way back to a graduate class to apologize for our lateness. The stress of the long wait rather diminished our enjoyment of the food, but the poem convinced the professor that it was out of our control. The Jim Beam, by the way, was in a sauce, not a glass. :)