Treasure Island

Alan Bruce Thompson


Fat Food


Is this really all there is to eat?
Glutinous, shimmering and blazing with heat.
There's lots of this stuff, this bread and meat,
This has become the substance that gives life it's beat.

The noble vegetable has gone, salad took its place.
Even the vegetarians eat it to save face.

There's no way to complain, you'll get what we want
There's much variety but little point to chant.

Flavours and taste come from three drums
”Lots of choice”, but no choice, take it as it comes.

Fat, sugar and salt is all we need,
To feed our hunger and forget our greed.

Submitted: Monday, September 09, 2013
Edited: Monday, September 09, 2013
Listen to this poem:

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

What do you think this poem is about?



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Fat Food by Alan Bruce Thompson )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. A Dream Within A Dream
    Edgar Allan Poe

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. In the far meadowland, Pradip Chattopadhyay
  2. I Can See Beyond The Hills, I Can Tell B.., kayanja isaac
  3. I hear again, hasmukh amathalal
  4. With Some Desires of Surviving, Rohit Sapra
  5. The Goodness Of Solitude, kayanja isaac
  6. FIRE, Philo Yan
  7. Little belief, hasmukh amathalal
  8. Sweet pea to Cactus, Nalini Chaturvedi
  9. Talk less and try to realise, Pranab K. Chakraborty
  10. No hide I bother when play begins, Pranab K. Chakraborty

Poem of the Day

poet Sara Teasdale

Only in sleep I see their faces,
Children I played with when I was a child,
Louise comes back with her brown hair braided,
Annie with ringlets warm and wild.

...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]