(Commentary on a husband and wife relationship)
No one sees me, I’m in the back.
Cutting up the food for this evening’s snack.
Working my ass off every single day.
Then end up here, with not a dimes pay.
Every night’s the same, never any help.
Everybody wants to eat, at Johnny they yelp.
Is dinner ready yet, it’s getting close to eight.
My show is on at nine, don’t want to be late.
Some people may think it’s great to be chef.
I’ve heard enough of that, I’d rather be deaf.
But on and on I continue this confusing plight.
So everyone can have their evening’s delight.
One of these nights, I swear I’m going to quit.
And whoever wants to eat will probably throw a fit.
But when that day comes, everything will change.
I won’t be chef, I’ll have another name.
©2012 Guy Chaifetz