Poetry - Sunday Dinner

Each week I enter the Let's Twist competition in The Spectator. I've never won and I never will and that's not false modesty, I know I'm not literary enough. But each entry I send in, although it doesn't win or get published, sits on my computer wanting its day in the sun.  Now is the time for my little poems to shine.

The Spectator brief was: You are invited to submit a poem about a deadly foodstuff.

Sunday Dinner
by Glenda Young

If the chicken doesn’t poison you
Then the roast potatoes will
And beside your Yorkshire puddings
Lurks the killer kale 
Leafy greens and artichoke
Sunday dinner?
What a joke


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