Sunday Ketchup Poem by Lorene Kinsey

Why is it on Sunday
that we have those great Big meals,
And all the family comes over
to eat with great delight?
Surely, I’m not the only one
who hates the taste of steak
Who suffers by the toilet
for everything I ate.
And to get down the chicken,
potatoes, bread and squash,
I douse it all in ketchup
and beneath my breath say, “oh, gosh! ”
Oh, tell me why I have to eat
that traditionally gross meal
Pretending I don’t have to vomit,
ignoring how it makes me feel.
But don’t I pay later
for trying to be nice
Saying everything tastes great, once,
and then, sometimes twice.