When the Festal Board, as the papers say, <br /> Groans 'neath the weight of a lot to eat, <br />At breakfast, Fruhstuck or dejeuner, <br /> (As a bard tri-lingual I'm rather neat) <br /> At breakfast, then, if I may repeat, <br />This is what gets me into a huff, <br /> This is a query I cannot beat: <br />Why don't they ever have spoons enough? <br /> <br />I've broken my fast with the grave and gay, <br /> With hoi polloi and with the elite; <br />I've been all over the U. S. A. <br /> From Dorchester Crossing to Kearney Street. <br /> But aye when I sit in the morning seat <br />Comes to my notice the self-same bluff, <br /> Plenty of food, but in this they cheat: <br />Why don't they ever have spoons enough? <br /> <br />Take it at breakfast, only to-day: <br /> This was the layout, fresh and sweet: <br />Canteloupe, sweet as the new-mown hay; [Footnote: And about as edible.] <br /> Cereal-one of the brands[Footnote: To advertisers: This space for sale.] <br /> of wheat; <br /> Soft-boiled eggs (we've cut out the meat) : <br />Coffee (a claro-manila-buff) : <br /> Napery, china, and glasses complete- <br />Why don't they ever have spoons enough? <br /> <br /> <br />L'ENVOI <br /> <br />Autocratesses, forgive my heat, <br /> But isn't it time to change that stuff? <br />Small is the benison I entreat- <br /> Why don't they ever have spoons enough?<br /><br />Franklin P. Adams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ballade-of-the-breakfast-table/
