by David Roderick

The beetle and the food menus.

I wonder what I've ordered:
What's to eat tonight?
I wonder what I've ordered;
I wonder if I'm right.
Could be chips; could be fish.
I'll just have to make a wish.
I'll just have to wait and see,
Waiting for some liberty.
Round and round and round I go,
Not in circles, but in flow:
Round this busy goldfish bowl,
Without aim, and without goal.
Life is busy; life is quick.
Here's the food, now take your pick.
Steamy onions, rotten stew.
Life begun to start anew.
Like a beetle in this place,
Here's the food, now stuff your face.
Like some brave zoology,
I am under scrutiny.
In this giant microscope,
I'll just have to stay and cope.
I'm a beetle in disguise.
I shall perforce this mirage prise.
Though the beetle is not me,
Here is my analogy.
There's a bottle, out at sea,
Shake it up and count to three.
Beetle is stuck inside:
That's the truth; I have not lied.
Life can be monotony,
Waiting for some liberty.
Here's the menu. Have some food.
How is your daily mood?
We have plans. You have a place.
Like a beetle with no face.
You're a number, not a name.
Food can be so quite inane.
I shall eat. I shall grace
Your presence with my noble face.
I hope you like this little rhyme.
If not, welcome us to dine
With you in your pretty life.
Like best friends. Like man and wife.