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Sunday Lunch

Sunday lunch by the river,
A roast and a drink,
A time to relax,
A time to sit and think.
They marched to the carvery
Stomachs to the fore
You could almost see the drool
Dripping to the floor.

Guts like those
Take a lot to feed,
You could see their lust.
See their naked need.
I watched in awe as
Each piled up their plate,
I swear their jaws twitched
And each started to salivate.

It was only practiced skill
That made them all able
To manoeuvre those plates
Over to their table.
Silence reigned
As they started to eat
Cramming in great forkfuls
Of Tatie veg and meat.

They finished all together
And in unison they then
Returned to he carvery
And started off again.
I watched in amazement
As with very little pause
They then went for pudding,
Sponge and chocolate sauce.

It was just a bit like
Watching formation eating
As each tackled each course
With no thought of retreating
Finally they finished
And, stomachs to the fore,
Majestically they wobbled
Out through the door.

Eat all you can
Was the offer of the day.
Boy did that family
Make that offer pay.
It really was
Better than the tele
Watching the stuffing
Of each large belly.

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