Very Bad Poetry

Taking my babe,
Out to eat,
When she said,
I'm not really hungry,
I'll have a yogart,
And a glass of water.

With only a smattering,
Of effluvia,
Spattering my face,
As she finished,
The last,
Of my complementary,
Bread sticks.

Well my stomach,
Was rumbling,
All the way to my feet,
I had virtually exploded,
To the waiter,
I'll have fries with gravy,
Corn drowned in butter,
With the smothered,
Chicken fried steak,
And a tall glass,
Of iced tea.

Where upon our waiter,
Refilled our water,
Put out more bread sticks,
I was so ravenous,
I didn't catch that glint,
In my babe's eyes.
I missed it,
But I've seen it before.

So when our waiter,
Brought my dinner,
And feigned,
Not to notice,
The rumbling noise,
Emanating,
From my side of the table.

Promptly as our waiter, Turned to take his leave,
Half my dinner,
Took its leave,
From my plates.

As I looked at my babe,
She said to me,
With that glint,
I had missed,
It looked and smelled,
So good.
And you,
Wouldn't have eaten it all,
Anyway,
Besides,
You have to watch,
Your weight,
Like I do.

My babe so sweet,
Petite,
And at times bottomless,
I figuring she,
Only gets hungry,
When its dinner for me.


Note: Emily your a wit your No couch or: My only shortcoming.I had to laugh at what you wrote. Your poem Musing, Wicked. rlh

Robert Hawkins has published 2 more terrible poems since joining on 30/11/99. Read more of Robert's terrible poetry at the anthology. Here are three of Robert's latest works: