by Nick Gisburne
A decomposing vagrant is a treat
A slightly cheesy, savoury hors d’oeuvre
Collect the fat for gravy from the meat
And separate the skin before you serve
The homeless, far from challenging to catch
Are quick to follow currency as bait
Their frantic protestations are no match
For any hungry glutton with a plate
No holiday tradition can succeed
Without a deep-fried drifter in a dish
A time when all the family can feed
And hear the main course make its dying wish
Enjoy the butchered beggars as you feast
A dinner for the most discerning beast
