Manners Maketh Man

by grimbeau

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.