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Meal time musings

What on earth now, will I eat;
on ugly tray and dirty seat.

The meals served here, are often fine,
with sometimes little wait in line.

Some staff are nice, but some are rude,
as they stay busy, with the food.

The call to eat comes loud and clear,
for those who have the speaker near.

For those who do not hear the call,
they likely will not eat at all.

At dinning time, one must be quick,
and little care goes to the sick.

The staff here work for little pay,
as many here see slow decay.

But over time, there’s much less hell,
as I hear the dinner bell.
Written by Aquaheal
Published
Author's Note
This poem is about the dining experience where I live. I find it a rather dull and somewhat sad poem. Some people may like it though. A poem like this is the kind of poem I write when I am just cranking out material with little inspiration. Maybe sometime later I can write a much better poem. If people are dissatisfied with the disjointed nature of the poem, it's fine. I think I can do better, but it could take me awhile to come up with something really good.
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