Race Day
The last piece of ground beef
No larger than a quarter
Eyed longingly by eight little eyes
their manners for most part in order
First eye each other to look for a nod
And then to look at the plate
Or to look for intent
Should appetite break free in hope to fully sate
Suddenly a hand shot out
to make three laps in au jus
Popped it into her grease rimmed mouth
And bid the whole matter adeau
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