Pot and Pan

On the fire a pot and pan,
Told me to use them if I can.
I boiled some potatoes in the pot,
Three potatoes or was it four?
I did not want to be on the spot,
So I cooked another to make sure.
In the pan I fried some eggs,
Hung them on the line with some washing pegs.
I waited until the potatoes were cold,
Kept the fried eggs hanging until they were old.
Then I invited you in for a meal,
Served the eggs and potatoes no big deal.
I watched you struggle to get them down,
On your face one big frown.
Tomato ketchup was on the table,
You grabbed it as fast as you were able.
I watched the look upon your face,
You thought my cooking was a disgrace.
I was waiting for you to ask me why I did not eat,
But cold potatoes and eggs are not my treat.
As a host I am not of the best,
Serving cold food I do only in jest.
I will not listen to the pot and pan,
They scorn me as a cook it was part of a plan.
My wife does the cooking that is for sure,
I just make a mess on the kitchen floor.
Accept no more invites from me for a meal,
Then I am sure your ulcers will heal.



© Bernard Shaw

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