Steak

“What shall we have for breakfast, dear?

     What shall I get for dinner?

What shall I order for to-day?”

     Asks she, my wife, the sinner.

“You ought to help me just in that,”

     She says, her sweet lips pouting;

And so my thoughts, all knocked askew,

     Go to the butcher’s, scouting.

And finally, in sheer despair,

     The same old choice I make;

The same old thing I’ve cried for years;

     “Steak, steak, steak!”    

June 10, ‘95

Pub. in the

B. Courier,

June 16,

    ‘95