Several years ago I was asked to come up with a poem that would be appropriate for a fund raising dinner at the pre school my wife worked at.
They have used it ever since.
The trail cook said, ”Now, listen up,
our menu’s gonna vary.
Instead of eating beef and beans,
you’ll get pasta on the prairie.”
He said, “Enough of barbecue,
it’s time to make a change.
There’ll be meatballs on the mesa,
ravioli on the range.”
He added that his mind’s made up,
there’s nothin’ we could do
‘cept get used to thing’s Al Dente,
we shrugged and said, “Al who?”
Our cook has gone around the bend,
we tried to tell the boss
But all he said was
“Have you tried his prima Vera sauce?”
The cook had seen Clint Eastwood
as the man without a name
and there-in lies the reason
that our meals won’t be the same.
He saw a triple feature,
by that Sergio Leone
and it brought about his sudden urge
to feed us macaroni.
He’s broken with tradition,
it’s not the cowboy way.
And he sits there on his wagon,
ignorin’ what we say
as he stirs his marinara
and grates his Parmesan
and boils up spagatini
for us to put it on.
Then he cut up lots of onion
and chopped green peppers too
and added several spices
to sparkle up the stew.
So, that night we all ate it and,
you know, I’m really glad.
I’ve changed my mind, and come to find,
Spaghetti Western’s not half bad.