by Glen Martin Fitch
It’s not the food
that makes me dread your show.
It’s “sammies,’
“stoups” and “choups”
“E.V.O.O.”
Just so I hate to hear,
“It’s time to PLATE UP.”
Someday "eat" will be "de-plate."
You grate my nerves like cheese.
Why make each noun a verb?
The urge to “fork” a pie crust
I would curb.
Things change,
perhaps evolve,
to meet new needs.
New foods, new tools
demand new words, new deeds.
“Pop-OVERs” make me smile and
“simmer DOWN.”
At “finish OFF” like
“Where’s it AT?” I frown.
“To stir” makes sense.
So why so much ado?
You stir it “IN” or “UP” or
“AROUND” or “THROUGH.”
I sit and eat and watch you
just to scoff.
Perhaps it’s time
to turn my T.V. OFF.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."
Last updated October 29, 2011