Froggacuda's Weblog

What is it like
To be a piece of French toast
A half a club sandwich
Or a grade B roast
Sitting on the plate
With someone looking down
A bit of parsley for a brain
An orange peel for a crown
As scrambled eggs
Or a hamburger bun
Waiting to see
Of what end they’ll become
A fat lady or a kid
Or a man with ready cash
Or the ultimate rejection:
To be thrown in the trash.