Soup should be heralded with a mellow horn,
Blowing notes of gold against the stars;
Strange entrees with a jangle of glass bars
Fantastically alive with subtle scorn;
Fish, by a plopping, gurgling rush of waters,
Clear vibrant waters, beautifully austere;
Roast, with a thunder of drums to stun the ear,
A screaming fife, a voice from ancient slaughters!
Over the salad let the woodwinds moan;
Then the green silence of many watercresses;
Dessert, a balalaika, strummed alone;
Coffee, a slow, low singing that no passion stresses;
Such are my thoughts as--clang! crash! bang! I brood
And gorge the sticky mess these fools call food!
American poet Stephen Vincent Benet