Lobster, I am, and so proudly I serve,
My platters laden, I deftly swing, swerve.
The chef said, “You’re wanted at table nine.”
“T’was honored! Put on my tails, dressed to dine.”
The first requested salmon steaks … filleted.
Sam Salmon ran—his orders disobeyed.
I hate pulling rank but was ‘prime’ in my tank.
The chef sniffed me … odd … said, “You’re rotten, rank!”
I was already dressed to the hilt, killer.
“I’ll go. For my company, please bill her.”
I joined her at the table; she fainted.
‘Twas as if I stank—she thought me tainted.
I pulled my pride together, helped her up.
She said, “Please go away and let me sup.”
Indecisive people are rude, you see.
I strolled back into the kitchen, galley.
The chef stood o’er the door with a net down;
he picked me up, in the trash I was bound.
“I cannot keep someone no one will eat!”
So the chef set me free. “Wasn’t that sweet?

Now I’ll retire in the ocean wide.
It was my choice to NOT bathe when inside!”