The Secret To Gravy Poem by Kondwani Simwaba

Diary of a bachelor with a cook book part1
The secret of gravy
He prepares the stove, tunes it to the max;
A soft and solemn melody plays in the back,
With a smile, he gathers his kitchen paraphenalia;
An onion per cut, his eyes quack like a duck,
A tomato follows suit along with; a carrot, garlic & paper;
The cooking oil sings in a soprano tune,
With a sigh of relief, he summons his condiments;
Dear gravy thickener please do come with salt,
Salads for the gents, potatoes are but a must.
The rice signals ready as the boiling comes to a halt,
The cooking oil is quite, the gravy is ready at last;
The oven goes ding! Must be the chicken's whisper.
A thumb in the gravy pan, oh dear me where's the salt?
A sprinkle or two, we are ready to go;
An aroma fills the room, must be from the rice's pot,
The music continues, the chef dances slow;
Oh my! the onion is black, dear lord 'tis but art,
Tomatoes look rather big, the knife was but blunt;
The taste is quite sublime,
His eyes seem watery, apologies I couldn't find a rhyme;
Oh well! Gather around, shall we eat?
The whole room yells, it's about time,
Silent eating ensues, no sound but a chime;
A little love is the secrete to gravy,
I shall say this, but onetime...
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