Poetry: Two From Bruges
The chef who would cook all the cats he could find,
Did not understand why he was much maligned.
His thoughts went like this, when a cat eats a fish,
It co-opts the taste of an alternate dish.
The birds it consumes must enhance the cuisine,
But the folk of the town thought him silly and mean.
To follow his logic they roasted him whole,
Expecting a bounty of flavours per bowl.
Yet apathy reigned when they discovered that,
The flesh of the chef tasted mostly of fat.
—-
A rocking chair rocks back and forth,
But travels neither south nor north.
Give me a wheeled chair any day,
For I’d prefer to roll away.
