A Woodchuck Comes to Dinner

A woodchuck visited us for dinner;
since he was a vegetarian, we thought he’d be thinner.
He crawled out from under our backyard deck;
first came his head, and then his neck.


When he came at length to the belly part
he was forced to use the contortionist’s art
to squirm and squeeze his broad girth under
the lattice work, or be torn asunder.


When he sat down at last at our humble table
he found—I fear—himself incapàble
or dining or even munching with us,
the evening threatened to turn to a bust.

“Please–enough with the ‘poetry’!”

We had steak tips—rare—with teriyaki marinaded,
while a docking station one and all serenaded.
There was corn on the cob, and rice pilaf.
He had a Boston accent, and said “I hoff ta loff.”


We found his comment importunate
and on the whole, rather unfortunate.
“What’s the matter,” I said, and I swear I meant it
although talking to woodchuck’s a sign your demented.

“You’ve seen me, both of you, many’s the time,
chomping and chewing your grass like kine.
And so, to close this sad little ballad,
let me say–all I want is a small side salad.”

Moral: Give your guests what they want, not what you like.



2 thoughts on “A Woodchuck Comes to Dinner

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