Indian Delight
It’s Friday night, Saturday Morning
In the middle of December,
It’s minus two and snowing
And I am hungry!
The fridge is empty
Not a stale pizza
Or even tined food in sight
Not a morsel to be had.
I am starving
My empty stomach rumbling
I’ll never get any sleep
But I’m not going out in this nasty weather.
What I thinking,
I’ll ring my local Indian
They’ll deliver any weather,
Any time and
It’s always piping hot.
poem by Khadim Hussain
Added by Poetry Lover
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