Bunk Bark Grub

I got wool in my mystery meat.

Big Sam yells out, "Mine musta been a blonde".

We don't know what the hell it is we eat.

I'm certain that it has been spit upon.

Cookie knows lots of ways to "fix 'tatoes"

We face our toilets, trays upon our knees

Wondering which way peristalsis goes

We force fork fulls than peek at our teevees

Is it liver, kidney or slash of pork

Starchy vegetables , chicken of the sea?

The stomach revolts. I try to ignore.

My technicolor yawns are history.

I can't believe I'm fed all this junk.

Alone with my grub, I bark from my bunk.