Two for one

Breakfast at ‘Blake’s’

Old antique tables hide old and worn chairs

With overflow seating down overgrown stairs.

With overblown prices for overhyped wears,

A place to be seen in with no scathing stares.

The Pope’s pious poison!

It’s Friday, it’s fish day,

It’s time to fill that chip tray

That time of week

When our physique

Resembles our fat cliche.

So righteous, so pious

(But maybe I’m just bias)

I’m looking old, or so I’m told

But this meal satisfies us!

An order, recorder

The waitress I ignore her

Like pulling teeth

from way beneath

This chaos and disorder

I’ve waited. They’ve made it.

My hunger satiated

With fish and chips

And haughty quips

No more emaciated.