A Poetic Plea

A Poetic Plea for the Perfunctory Politeness of Punctuality

The veggies are mushy and sloppy,
The turkey's all stringy and dry,
There's a smoldering black pan of ashes,
That mere hours ago, was a pie.

Dia-Betty has passed into coma,
Uncle Alfred has fallen asleep,
The children are screeching and squabbling
O'er the nuts, which were all that would keep.

The clock's hands have tangoed in circles
Once, twice, maybe three times, in vain
Past the hour of the iminent mealtime,
To the tune of our guests' hunger pains.

We tried to be patient, I promise!
We did small-talk, and Scrabble, and more!
But Boorish Bob's bodily functions
Can leave even the best of us bored.

Aunt Helga brought five photo albums,
Of her nephew, dear Hector Headgear.
She narrated to us his entire life story
In the infinite time we've been here.

So now, as I write this, I'm pleading
With my mutinous family and friends,
"Please untie me, ungag me, allow me to breathe,
And I won't let this happen again!"

For the duct tape is itching my sensitive lips,
And the rope burns are starting to smart.
So, the next time you're late
For a dinnertime date,
Please take these instructions to heart:

Find a pay phone, a cell phone, a pigeon
To deliver the message to us,
So we can start eating without you,
To avoid such a hassle and fuss.

Fifteen minutes is fine, we're not Nazis,
Half an hour is okay in a pinch,
But having to wait
For the chronically late
Makes me feel like a horrible Grinch

For the people on time are all hungry,
And the casserole has chilled to stone-cold,
So, you really should care
'Cause it isn't quite fair
To deprive people ill, frail, and old.

So, when you waltz in here at seven or eight,
When dinner was first set for five,
There's a good chance the guests will be slimmer,
But a slim chance I'll still be alive.