A cookout poem that can't use the following words: food, bbq, grill, gathering & beer.
On a Saturday midway through June,
with a lunch party scheduled for noon,
my dad thought it best
to put skills to the test,
which my mom said was inopportune.
Though he’d never attempted to light
the charcoal, he thought it was right
to now give it a go
for the burgers and so
he dumped in the coals to ignite.
From a demo he saw at the store
he then doused them with fluid galore.
When he threw on a match,
since it didn’t quite catch,
he opted to douse them with more.
What a sight when the flames reached the sky!
And the tips of the branches nearby.
As was often the case,
it became my mom’s place
to make certain my dad didn’t die.
She had come to his rescue a bunch.
So with this time she called it “a hunch.”
With the hose in her hand
she protected our land
and had pre-made some cold cuts for lunch.