Last Meal

 

Oh sad and pouty mushroom,

your friends seem gay and fun –

did you, by chance, get baked too long?

It seems you’re over-done.

Plump enough for stuffing,

Maybe butter and some wine –

A slice of bright tomato,

plucked from my neighbor’s vine.

It isn’t really all that bad,

a salad as your fate –

I’m hoping, should I eat you,

I don’t become the late.