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From todays prompt:

My salad was served on a bed of straw

It’s no word of a lie, it’s the truth; I swore!

So what kind of cuisine would you say this is?

What kind of offering for a mere twenty quids?

Rustic/ Rural? Medieval perhaps?

Overwhelmingly tempted to declare this is crass!

‘Underwhelmingly base this is no avant-garde’

Griping and groaning I left for the car;

Haute cuisine won’t be found upon my way home, so

To the nearest take-away, to home-deliver my own.


(NB: MISWROUGHT wasn’t a prompt word, but that’s the way my poem began forming with a MISW… in the first four lines so I spontaneously chose to form it that way.)