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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 [log in to unmask] http://members.chello.at/bernard.shaw/poetry.html http://www.postpoems.com/members/bern/