by Alan Balter
Tomato sauce I'm at a loss
I simply don't know why
Hardly ever, really never
Spots a worn out tie
But wear a new one, a costly blue one
A fancy silken job
If you're like me; I guarantee
With gravy, you're a slob
Spicy mustard, chocolate custard
Everybody knows
Never spill and never will
When you're wearing your old clothes
But brand new pants don't have a chance
Hanging on your hips
Melted cheese, with shocking ease
Drips right off your lips
So let's suppose food really knows
When you're dressed up fancy
I'd still conclude that eating nude
Would be very chancy.
About the Author
Alan Balter was born May 25th, 1939 in Chicago. He worked as a teacher for children with special needs before becoming a professor in the Special Education Department at Chicago State University. There, he prepared teachers for children and adolescents with learning disabilities and developmental delays. Along with Poetry for my Grandchildren and Everyone Else’s, his other publications include: Divided Apple: A Story about Teaching in Chicago, Learning Disabilities: a Book for Parents, and two novels entitled Birds of a Feather and Holden and Me.