by Ronald W. Hull
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Recent poems by Ronald W. Hull
Cut the Cheese
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Number 2 and the end of the series. Thank goodness I don't like condiments ...
Mustard on your hot dog,
Mustard on your fries.
Thought it was ketchup,
Twas all a bunch of lies.
Mustard on your shirt sleeve,
Mustard on your lap.
Staining your new shirt like that,
Ought to get a slap.
If you ask for mustard,
Don't say, "Grey Poupon."
Don't say it, that is,
Without your formals on.
Mustard for the Army,
Mustard for the coast.
The Army is a terrible way,
To leave those you hate the most.
Golden mustard in the fields,
Is the farmers' bane.
Mustard greens in the pot,
The poor man can sustain.
Mustard it from the grape vine,
Mustard from the news.
Those who mustard for the Army,
Got a lot to lose.
So if you're in some foreign land,
And see the fields of gold.
Remember those who mustard out,
And didn't live to grow old.
Copyright 2003 © Ronald W. Hull
Photo of mustard fields in Nepal Copyright © Scott Yost, 1994 of vic.com
Read My Books at Ron's Place
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|Reviewed by La Belle Rouge (Reader)
|Really clever and unique, Ron.|
|Reviewed by Erica Ivory
|This certainly cut the mustard... Great work!|
|Reviewed by Ron (sketchman) Axelson
|I love the taste of mustard
on a smoked ham sandwich...
To each his own?
You mustard up a fine write......
|Reviewed by June Thompson
|ingenius.. I wouldn't have thought of those mustard it lines- not today anyway..
was waiting for this- wonderfully of course
terrible isn't it.. just cut up pickles- I love the irony of it all
|Reviewed by Kate Clifford
|I love the mustard plant, but I hate the taste of mustard. Wonderful write.|