Stopping by a Foot for Lunch

Stopping by a Foot for Lunch

Whose foot is that I think I know.
His shoe is someplace elsewhere though;
He will not see me sneaking near
To pass right by his bulbous toe.
My little mitts are in the clear
To stop right by his glass of beer
Between the sandwich and the cake
The guy left out just sitting here.
It’s just my luck he made a Shake,
But didn’t drink it, his mistake.
I’ll wolf the lot without a peep,
The cake is topped with snowy flakes.
His feet ain’t lovely, and reek deep,
But I downed food I mean to keep,
And will not heave before I sleep,
And will not heave before I sleep.

© 2022 Les Hartbourne

© Guest - 09-16-22-05:40 PM

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Added 09-16-22

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