My Grimy Grill

My grimy grill, Is really quite, Summer’s delight, And if used right, Is very much a thrill. It’s not just meat, That’s off the hook, For if you look, You’ll see I cook, My veggies over heat. The greasy grates, They hold the food, That will conclude, With gratitude, Once I put onto plates. The fires burn, On down below, And cooking slow, My grilling row, As I do often turn. The grease had grown, Up over time. And made the climb, To turn to grime, From what the grates have shown. And when I’m done, I step aside. And feel inside, A source of pride, I find second to none.