This short poem might find its way into my yet-to-be-written series, The Secret Life of a Lunch Lady. It came to me during my shift today, where I worked in the dish room — rinsing hundreds of lunch trays, many of which were coated with cheese sauce. For those of you who’ve ever worked in a school dish room, cheese sauce is worse than ranch dressing and mashed potatoes.
I’m not used to feeling animosity toward Mac ‘n’ Cheese. Hence the poem. I was going for a mixture of forlorn and ridiculous. Let me know if I nailed it.
A Dishwasher’s Ode to Mac ‘n’ Cheese
Oh, Mac ‘n’ Cheese . . .
I’ve been so good to you.
I buy you even when you’re not on sale.
I add only the *finest hot dogs.
Why, Mac ‘n’ Cheese?!
That’s all I’ve got.
This is probably where you tell me it’s good I have a day job. 😉
*Update: I changed the hot dog line to turn “best” into “finest.” It just felt right. Any thoughts?