Last Supper

If food should be our final foil
to shuffle off this mortal coil,
come join us for our terminal meal
of underdone pork and tainted veal

For hors-doo-voors, a choice of cheeses
With side effects of coughs and wheezes
And once you’re feeling sore and hoarse
You’re ready for the meanest course

Consanguineous wines in gauzy glasses
Forgive us all our past trespasses
Our repast passes gloating gazes
And is served with condescending phrases

A serving of suspicious spaghetti.
Dusted with spices and old confetti
Salacious salad with messy dressing
A sinister scheme is coalescing

I know now
we need a napkin.

A fiendish bean dip, tangerine stew
A fondue pot of viscous goo
Forks and sporks and tongs and ladles
Tools to pry our earthly cradles

And for dessert, our just desserts
a mystical popsicle.

And then we’ll raise our glass once more
Before we carry to Charon’s shore
A toast! To boasts and brags and roasts,
to fickle friends and fading ghosts

To foul and fair, to fat and thin,
And to that fellow with the sickle
who just walked in.