The Mouthful
My plate is a construction site ready for work,
The supplies gathered in assorted piles,
My fork, a backhoe, moves into action.
It shovels, moves beneath a lump of macaroni,
Slowly moving toward a gaping pit, my mouth.
Steadily moving, then PLOP!!!
Suddenly, as if from nowhere, jaws of whitened steel, my teeth,
Close the gaping pit.
The earth shakes to and fro, then…
Mom! This is delicious! Can I have more?