The Last Morsel
Once a week or there about,
a minor treat,
at the college eatery.
What to have-
flesh, fish, fowl
or maybe flora.
A cup of the chef's special chili,
the aroma peaks the appetite.
How tempting, how delicious
how painful.
The pungent flavors fill
the mouth with joy-
the eyes with tears.
Moist eyes hint, no more,
but the mouth wants
the painful pleasure.
The tongue overrides.
The spoon scrapes up
the last morsel.
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