Today’s poem

PRETTY FOOD

I never could quite

understand The need for pretty food, You know the sort I mean. With every dish a work

of art Each morsel an integral part Of a culinary scene.

I never have quite fathomed The drive for such display, It just seems daft to me. It’s really such a

pointless show This pandering to

food nouveau And all so OTT.

I much prefer the kind

of grub That’s asking to be scoffed, You know the sort I mean. A slice of steak and

kidney pie And mashed potatoes piled

up high, With peas and runner beans.

And afterwards some

treacle sponge Well drenched with

custard thick, That really looks the part. The problem with the

nouveau stuff Is having nowhere

near enough Nor knowing where to start! Gerry Cartwright,

redditch, Worcs.