Today’s poem

THE END OF THE ROAD

The family are coming, invading the house, Not an inch of spare room for even a mouse. I’ve shopped ’til I dropped, spent all of the cash, The rest of the week live on faggots and mash. One won’t eat greens, the other not fish, They all plaster on ketchup whatever the dish. Grandma’s new dentures restrict what she chews, And granddad re-tells again yesterday’s news. Son-in-law sits drinking beer by the glass, He really is nowhere in our high class. Daughter again will fuss, shout and flap, If her kids cause a riot, I’ll threaten a slap. Hubby will vanish, hide out in the shed And have to be woken, time to be fed. If I was like Mary, all clever and calm, I’d be in control, forceful power at the helm. As it is, I’m a mess, no system or plan, Most of my cooking comes out of a can. My blancmange is often so very thick Some builders have used it to render their brick. And a chop suey I made, not gourmet, it’s true, Added to porridge, made super-strong glue. I’ve heard of nouveau and tried cordon bleu But when I dish up, they all head for the loo. I’ve read all the books, watched the TV, Do all women muck up or is it just me? I could call on Jamie, Gary or Marc, All in my kitchen would be a good lark. But I’m a lost cause that no one can cure, Even the cockroaches back out of the door. So we’ll go to McDonald’s, my cooking on hold, It’s time to accept it’s the end of the road. We’ll gobble up burgers, chips and a sweet, Saying thank heavens for fast food, and bon appetit. D. Phillips, Dorchester, Dorset.