Sorry About The Meatloaf

 

The leftover meatloaf was bland.

I ate the whole portion I was given

but did not ask for seconds,

and tried to make my adding salt 

as clandestine an effort as possible.

I never complained, never said a word,

because the meatloaf,

which is usually very tasty

and one of my favorites,

would most likely have been 

up to its usual excellence

had I remembered to call

and say I would be late

when she cooked it 

yesterday.

So instead

when I finally remembered and called

to announce my tardiness that had

become obvious to her hours earlier,

I could tell by the tone of her voice

that my dinner was now 

being basted with large portions

of Chef’s Contempt.

I guess it makes sense how 

some meals taste better the next day

but most won’t when they are left to marinate

in a vat of Inconsiderate Bastard

overnight.

Sorry about the meatloaf.

Ken Owen   May 2002

Van Niddy Press