Dinner Last Night
Poem By gershon hepner
What did I have for my dinner last night
and what did I talk about while we were eating?
Who was the one who prepared every bite
and saved the leftovers perhaps for reheating?
It’s likely that I can remember details
of what I, while eating, discussed and debated;
details such as those are remembered by males
whose wives make quite sure that their husbands are sated,
but what I was served then I don’t quite recall
as well as the words now the food’s been digested,
my dinner divided in three parts, like Gaul—
I ate and I drank, and when satisfied rested.
But who cleared the table and who washed the dishes?
Was anyone thanked for that horrible task?
Though service was good and the food quite delicious
this isn’t a question I want you to ask.