You're Toast

A poem about a deadly foodstuff

“What ails you, Lord Scandal? Why look you so pale?

I fear you’ve been over indulging on ale.”

“Not ale mother, haggis, my stomach, it churns

And oh how it burns, mother, oh how it burns!”

“Who cooked you the haggis, Lord Scandal, my child?

Your face is so white and your eyes are so wild.”

“My sweetheart, she cooked it with Scots sausage meat

And mushroom sauce – added, she said, as a treat.”

“Did you talk about Scotland, Lord Scandal, my son?

Did you talk about Scotland, my wee bonnie one?”

“Aye, I favoured Brexit and made my views known

But she wanted Scotland to go it alone.”

“I think you are dying, Lord Scandal, I do,

Your tongue is on fire, your lips have turned blue.”

“Aye, Mother, the sauce – it was death caps I ate,

I shouldn’t have argued but now it’s too late.”