Barbeque Bob

 
A fine three-day weekend, alas, we’ve come to
One in which many will break out barbeque.
And how can they not, with weather so grand?
To do otherwise, nobody can stand.
 
A bright sunny day, not too hot or too chill
Humans bring forth the sauce and crank up the grill,
And quick, like a flash, they dash to the store
To procure lots of meat, as they are carnivores.
 
Now this is when rats give their whiskers a shake,
For not every man will stick with a steak.
Some humans like to get bold with their meat;
There’re no limits to what these people won’t eat.
 
Skipping hot dogs, ’qued chicken, spare ribs, and the like
They choose ostrich and gator and frogs’ legs and tripe,
But the thing most of all that I fear’s on their list
Is one I so wish they would cease and desist!
 
I’m sure you can guess what I fear they desire:
It’s rat meat, of course, they plan to set on fire.
And so days like these ones I scatter for cover
And hide in my nestlet to remain undiscovered.
 
So on days like today with weather so grand
And you sit by the grill with your tongs well in hand,
I do hope my rhyme hasn’t been all for naught;
Please don’t choose to cook bratsket or furgers or brats!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,

Bob