Today I like you to a poem about food by Ogden Nash:
The Clean Plater
Here is an excerpt:
Some Singers sing of ladies' eyes,
And some of ladies lips,
Refined ones praise their ladylike ways,
And course ones hymn their hips.
the Oxford Book of English Verse
Is lush with lyrics tender,
A poet, I guess, is more or less
Preoccupied with gender.
Yet I, though custom call me crude,
Prefer to sing in praise of food.
Food,
Yes, food,
Just any old kind of food. . . .
. . . Never mind what kind of food.
When I ponder my mind
I consistently find
It is glued
On food.
I post this to declare that I am now an official Weight Watcher member - again. Sigh.
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