A Meal For Seven Days

It was a meal for seven days;
He ate the meat on Sunday
And the fruit salad
The next day.
On Tuesday he licked up the broth
And downed the dessert
Even before the main.
It is Thursday with plain rice,
No broth, no meat - nothing.
There still has to go
Friday, Saturday and what
Will he do?
He looks at the rice and sighs,
Then he prays to the Esoteric -
How am I to eat plain white
With no broth at all?
There is a knock at the door,
Rat tat tat ta!
It's a pretty girl in from the marts
Who says savingly,
I thought I should bring you
A factory-made soup.

by samuel nze

Comments (2)

Cute poem written with great humor.
most intriguing. I like the voice, I like the 'factory made soup'.