Pie

A poem about pie.

I look at the food
Or what's left of it
The remains of a meal
The salad untouched
I am not hungry
I am not satisfied
Cake? Pork Rinds? Pie?
I am old enough
Not to eat my vegetables
Even when I serve myself
To reward myself with desert
Even when I haven't been good
Half a meal!
It looks like a junkyard
To the chicken a graveyard
Where is my respect for the dead?
Surely they deserve better
Than to be hastily consumed during Matlock
Did someone say pie?