Rabbit Stew and Sister Elsie. Life in the San 1956

The smell of thyme
crept up the corridor;
the sound of the dinner trolley
rolled over the polished floor;
my stomach lurched
in protest at what was in store

Sister Elsie appeared
tiny, ruddy and round
yet, her dainty feet
hardly making a sound

“Rabbit Stew for dinner
isn’t that nice, and afterwards
tapioca, or if you prefer it
you may have the rice.”

“I hate rabbit stew”
I roundly declared,
so utterly revolted, I forgot
to be scared, of this pint
sized demon who ruled
by fear.
She turned aghast
at my outburst so clear.

“You’ll eat up young miss
If it takes all day,
you’ll not move a muscle
till you’ve seen it away!”

Under my nose
the rabbit stew sat;
we stared at each other
till my stomach went splat.
Cold and congealed
it slid down my throat;
it danced around my innards
and the end seemed remote.

The emetic explosion
that came suddenly
covered Sister Elsie
from bosoms to knee.
Her face was a study
green from the bile
but that little battle
I won by a mile…

The stew disappeared
as quickly as it came,
never to be part
of my menu again.