Puffed, watery and droopy are those eyes,

Queer is the way he moans and sighs,

Rusty are his thoughts as he walks,

Steering himself away from bushes and stalks,

Teetering to one side and then to the other,

Unkempt, disheveled and a beggar’s brother,

Vacuous he is as he is questioned like a retard,

“Where is your mess card?”

X – rayed and double checked against the roster,

Yard by yard he covers till the roller coaster,

Zombie – like he nods to the waiting caterer!

Askance is the vacillating look he gives,

Blanches at the food the caterer contrives,

Cack-handed and nimble-fingered, he drops the spoon,

Dreaded with the possibility that he might at any time swoon,

Effing and swearing he goes to his table,

Fraught with thoughts of his not being able,

Gallows seem to be a much kinder option,

Harrowed, he pushes the plate away with irritation,

Icky and ill, he throws it all in the bin,

Joining countless others who replicate the sin,

Klutzy is not what he is as he goes to his room,

Lumbering across free from the land of doom,

Mixed are his feelings as he drops onto the bed,

Never breakfast on weekends, if you don’t like bread,

Off he goes to his dreamland of culinary wonder!!