Clean Your Plate
From the very moment my Mom taught me how to use a spoon,
From her mouth was uttered that old familiar tune:
"The kids in Asia are starving, now Bobby, clean your plate!"
Her admonition was final and left no tolerance for debate!
I tried to foist upon the hapless dog a helping of bony fish.
Even he would gag trying to swallow that vapid dish!
I'd toy with them and try to hide the tasteless peas.
I could barely abide them, even in bites of twos and threes!
Even tho' Mom concealed them with cheese, I had my doubts,
About a malodorous little veggie called Brussels sprouts!
I'd surreptitiously sneak them on to the plate of little brother,
Thereby, avoiding the reproof to clean my plate by my Mother!
There was the delicate matter of dealing with broccoli and beets,
Okra, spinach, turnips, hominy and other such disgusting eats.
In my feckless youth I thought such fare rather untoward,
But soon learned that to survive, you ate what was on the board!
When side-stepping along the chow line in the military service,
They often slopped mysterious stuff on my tray, making me nervous.
When I joined the service, I hoped never again to hear Mom's old cliche,
But, even those mean old sergeants screamed, "Private! Clean your tray!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Tied for No. 1 in PD's "Any Random Poem" Contest - July 2011
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