Farewell to bacon and to hash,
The eggs stand sore alone.
The morning after Thursday night,
We abstain to atone.
The plates that once were weighted down
With meats both fat and lean,
Hold meager meals of grains and greens
And nothing in between.
The Fridays of the year beget
A meat-deprived malaise,
And nightmare dreams of tables set
With endless PBJs.
While, bereft of cold cut options, moms
O’er vegan cookbooks hunch.
They shield their ears in anguish
From the dread cry, “What’s for lunch?”
As we who are enslavéd by
The dread god of the belly,
Fight valiantly to quell the urge
To stock up at the deli.
Put away the vegan cookbook, sister! Today, we‘ve got lunch covered!