Humble Pie
Said Alfred, ‘Ma, what in the world
smell spicy pies hot and diggity?’
He wide-eyed his feast, the table he sat,
his fingers wriggled a-fidgety,
She filled up his plate,
his feast he soon ate
and sniffed at her son’s curiosity,
Shouted their grace,
tucked his bib and said,
‘Son, it’s this new pie Higgity.’
’They’s good,’ Alf said tartiflettes crammed in at full liberty,
His belly filled up with spuds, bacon lush, (soft and not yet crispy)
‘That bechamel and thyme is a combo sublime that really is quite simply,
’Ma! Git me more from the corner store and soon fill our near-empty pantry.’
‘Quit jabbering and eat!? Ma said complete,
air soon cleared of all animosity,
’Spinach, nuts and feta in this other pie here is grub of all dream simplicity,
’Roasted pepper, hint nutmeg in seed shortcrust baked oozes butter intensity,
’Watch your manners, my boy, the store I’ll go and carry my utmost of dignities.?
‘Ta ma,’ her son grinned, scoffing up, broke wind, like one big greedy piggidy,
Sure the very next day from the chiller they laid grub laden high full with Higgity,
‘Now son,’ his ma said ‘Time home you now fled my pies are brim to capacity,
’No room for you now, pies is my new kin, face it, you’re nigh on turned seventy!’
ENDS
