At the soda fountain, tummy bulgin’ with vittles. . .
My sundae is three scoops topped with Skittles.
Hot fudge rollin’ down the mounded ice
cream—glad that I’m in here
For this dining vice.
Yes, food makes me so happy:
Breakfast, dinner munch.
I love a mountain of lunch.

Bite after bite am I rammin’ down a scone,
Eatin’ some parfait, post pile o’ prawns.
Preyin’ on a boned fish and some mutton too,
Open up for ham sugar-glazed and slicked with roux.
Dinin’ partners find me
Swinish, a bunch,
Pilin’ and moundin’ up lunch.

I’m moundin’ up lunch,
A mountain of lunch.
“You should be ashamed!”
They rue to me a-moundin’ up lunch
And chewin’ range-free game.

Gaped mouth bestowed with carafe I’m swillin’. . .tipple.
Burst air from a burp. . .a flatulent ripple
The diners lurch as they falter and then glower.
Wretched smells they’re sniffin’, not good ones such as flowers’.
That’s why I’m so lonely,
I have got a hunch.
Silent, a soundless nose punch.

A soundless nose punch,
A soundless nose punch—
“You should be ashamed!”
They rue to me RE: soundless nose punch
Then scoot, bruiting funk blame.

Gaped mouth bestowed with calories, half a million,
Burst air from a burp—bad form at cotillion.
The wine I slurp, and then I fall down and glower.
Senseless, fell from drinkin’ and food chowed down for hours.
Then I see it’s only
Two minutes till brunch. . .
Pilin’ and moundin’ up brunch,
Pilin’ a mountain of brunch,
Pie on this mountain of brunch,
Fries on the mountain of brunch,
Ice cream at fountain, post-brunch,
Silents abounding, a bunch,
Vile wind finds snouts—then chucked brunch.