An ode to a cook
Your biscuits are soggy,
Your dough-nuts are bad.
Your layer-cakes always,
Are sunken and sad.
You're a mess in the
kitchen,
I give you my word,
But when you start yacking
You're a real gooney bird.
Your pancakes are aweful,
Your coffee in punk,
When you slice bread,
Each slice is a hunk.
You're a mess in the
kitchen,
But just let me say,
If you start to yack,
You're good for all day.
Your eggs are so
tasteless,
Your bacon is burnt black,
To bake a good pie,
You haven't the hack,
Your a mess in the
kitchen,
This I can't deny.
For you'll yack and you'll
yack,
Until I want to cry.
The food that you cook,
Is not all that bad,
So invite me again
And make me real glad.
You may be a mess in the
kitchen,
Every day of the year,
But I've got to admit,
That I still love you
dear.
I composed this poem for
my daughter-in-law, Effie, in appreciation of a meal she cooked for
me on July 5, 1975. J.B. Black Sr.