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 barsFantastically 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 broodAnd gorge the sticky mess these fools call food!