Last Supper Parody © aghits at Freelancer.com

The Last Supper

The smell of coffee and bacon,

would make us come awake,

and rush down to breakfast,

our nightly fast to break.

Mom made us breakfast,

to rival Waffle House or IHOP,

but we loved crackers and coffee,

carbs, sugar and lactose, nonstop.

Hungry again at noon,

we would rush to the table.

Dinner would be served with,

what the refrigerator would enable.

In school, we would carry our lunch,

we had never heard of brunch,

never even had a hunch.

On Sundays after church,

dinner was a real treat,

with piles of fried chicken,

oh, so much goodness to eat.

Evenings were when we would sup,

the meat of the day was served up,

we would eat our fill until it was gone,

supper was a time to refill till dawn.

Off to college we went,

to learn new tricks.

Like haute cuisine,

and other fine licks.

Found out that supper was over,

and dinner was was now in.

To call supper, "dinner,"

was an Emily Post sin.

Miss those suppers as I drink,

etiquettely, my cheap wine,

eating dinner at suppertime.

Copyright © Ronald W. Hull

5/9/19

You can read this poem at my website here.