We plan for months just what we’ll eat,
Indecision over meat.
Will we add the humble sprout,
Who will sulk and cry and pout.
We eat until our buttons pop,
Appetites that just won’t stop.
Passing around the different sauces,
All the family swapping stories.
Then come out the ten desserts,
Glad I wore that stretchy skirt.
Not sure how I’ll get it down,
So much food stuff floating round.
Everyone stuffed unable to move,
But still we pick at the left over food.
We shall need a crane to move the guests,
Now that there is no food left.
Surely that’s it, there can be no more,
I ponder the actual width of our doors.
Could we possibly squeeze through them,
Before someone mentions pudding again!