Manners Maketh Man
Burnt offerings for the dog.
Still scrapless after all those ears.
Scavenged some roasted remnants.
There’s beans & fish ready to go.
Where’s the promised salad?
East of Neasden.
Abnormal service is exhumed.
Ate salmon, herbs, spuds, and runners.
Kitchen utilities roar as afternoon arrives:
‘Good Afternoon!’, it says
Still deep in morning,
I yawned a knowing smile,
returned a nod of greeting,
while slyly raising a hand
to hide the unswallowed fish head
I was sucking on.
Afternoon stayed for a coffee and left
to finish the rounds
in time for evensong.