Pray, my dear, whatever is the matter?
Those cupcakes were well past their use-by date.
That old soda was only getting flatter,
And those crackers growing musty in their crate.
That last banana slowly turning brown,
That cheddar cheese so quickly going green,
With selective cuts can still be gotten down,
That space cleared up, that little dish get cleaned.
On all your leftovers, that never do get eaten
And all your drink, that never does get drunk
A life like mine, that's marginalized and beaten
Can learn to feed on and to like such junk.
I live my life upon the leavings and the lees
As I hobble about on knackered legs.
But every crumb your justice counts and sees:
I'm sorry that I drank your dregs.
That bread crust no one eats that's turning stale;
The tomato got last month, that's heading south;
That Frito pie not quite beyond the pale;
Those potatoes that already start to sprout;
That grilled rice that's getting hard and dry;
Those ancient oranges that daily shrink and wither;
The beef broccoli that's gotten rather high:
Put all them in a bag, and send them hither.
Those pink chicken thighs, now blushing gray,
I still would hazard, but with some haste.
That avacado won't last another day.
Those chip crumbs shouldn't go to waste.
For such presumption, gluttony, and pride
You like to take me down a couple pegs.
Now I your righteous judgement must abide;
I'm sorry that I drank your dregs.
Envoi:
Princess! About your castle I must go
Treading carefully, as if on agèd eggs;
Perhaps it's my blood sugar, running low,
But I'm sorry that I drank your dregs.
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