Dinner In A Quick Lunch Room

Soup should be heralded with a mellow horn,

Blowing clear notes of gold against the stars;

Strange entrees with a jangle of glass bars

Fantastically alive with subtle scorn;

Fish, by a plopping, gurgling rush of waters,

Clear, vibrant waters, beautifully austere;

Roast, with a thunder of drums to stun the ear,

A screaming fife, a voice from ancient slaughters!

Over the salad let the woodwinds moan;

Then the green silence of many watercresses;

Dessert, a balalaika, strummed alone;

Coffee, a slow, low singing no passion stresses;

Such are my thoughts as — clang! crash! bang! — I brood

And gorge the sticky mess these fools call food!