banned-users

My mom makes disgusting spaghetti
with horseradish sauce and sardines.
She tops it with pickles and mustard,
bananas and barbecued beans.

She serves it for supper on Sunday.
On Monday we have it for lunch.
It's breakfast on Tuesday and Wednesday.
By Thursday, you guessed it, it's brunch.

I don't like to hurt my mom's feelings.
I said that I loved it. (I lied.)
I always gave mine to our doggy.
And that's why our poor doggy died.

So next time you serve us spaghetti,
dear mother, don't make it like that.
Please serve it with red sauce and meatballs,
and that way it won't kill the cat.

--Kenn Nesbitt and Donna Lee Murphy

My mom’s spaghetti is the best; 
no other mom can beat it;
and every time she cooks it
I can hardly wait to eat it.
I twist the strands around my fork
with wonderful control,
but as I raise them to my mouth
they fall back in the bowl.
I twirl the noodles once again
with all the skill I’m able,
but as I lift them up to eat
they tumble to the table.
I spin my fork; spaghetti winds
around and round once more;
but as it nears my waiting lips
it slithers to the floor.
My mom’s spaghetti is the best;
no other mom can beat it;
but I would like it better
if I got a chance to eat it.
Text © Leslie D. Perkins