Sunday Dinner
My Nan grew up in wartime
And thought nothing goes to waste
And sometimes Sunday dinner
Wasn’t really to my taste
I loved to go to her house
And most of the meals were great
But at times I really struggled
To eat the food upon my plate
Her Shepherd’s Pie was awesome
And I loved cold meats and cheese
She made Special Fried Potatoes
That always made me say “More please”
But every now and then
The dish that truly gave me shivers
I couldn’t even stand the smell
Of Nan’s boiled chicken livers
I pushed them all around the plate
And covered them with sauce
Tried to mix them with potatoes
But it didn’t help of course
In the end I had to say
There really was one choice
And though I knew it would be hard
I mustered up my voice
“Nan – I don’t like boiled chicken livers”
There was a moment’s silence
And my eyes were opened wide
Nan looked at me and gently smiled
“Just push them to the side”
After that no chicken livers
Were served at Sunday dinner
And we had all the other lovely things
My tastebuds were the winner
Sioban Timmer
- Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #20
A fun poem Sioban. Didn’t ,mind chicken livers but couldn’t stomach tripe!