Cooking School

It was my turn

Not to burn the roast.

I was mate

For my date

To host the ghost.

I left post taste

Straight for the coast.

Took my freight,

Had too much weight.

No boast I chased.

I hate to learn

To baste in haste.

I’d rather toast

Or await my yearn.

Just my fate

So great a sate.

I ate the taste

And left no waste.