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Poem

When I go out to dinner,
I do not want to share.
I don’t care what is on your plate;
I don’t want to compare.

I scan the menu up and down
And then make my selection.
When it arrives, it’s meant for me
And not for your inspection.

“You want to taste my fish?” I’m asked.
Some people never learn;
For then the expectation is
To taste mine in return.

And so the answer’s always No!
Yet comments never cease.
“Your fries look really good!” They are,
So let me eat in peace!

Each morsel on my dish is mine
And I intend to finish.
Perhaps my attitude will make
Your thoughts of me diminish.

I’m sorry if that is the case – 
Dessert I’ll split just fine;
But when the meal’s delivered – 
You eat yours and I’ll eat mine!

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