Take-out

They’ve got a kitchen with every appliance,

A shrine to the art of domestic science,

A home, you’d suppose, of culinary giants,

And they live on take-out food.

Glass-topped, wipe-clean 6-zone hob,

Devoid of burners, buttons and knobs,

It’s waiting there when they’re back from their jobs,

And they live on take-out food.

There’s a new Pad Thai that’s all the rage,

Onto the app, scroll down the page,

Summon a rider on minimum wage,

They live on take-out food.

Ice cube dropper, ice cream maker,

Nutri bullet fruity shaker,

Bread machine for the would-be baker,

And they live on take-out food.

They’ve got two fryers – deep fat and air,

A set of tongs came free with the pair,

The wine rack’s full but the fridge is bare,

And they live on take-out food.

You cook?  Me cook?  Neither, neither,

Fancy a burger? Make them sliders,

Easy order, easy rider,

They live on take-out food.

Microwave and double oven,

You cook?  Me cook?  Not a discussion,

Got a bag of spuds but you can shove ‘em,

They live on take-out food.

A block full of knives and a draw full of pans,

You cook?  Me cook?  I don’t think I can,

Padded bag plus delivery man,

They live on take-out food.

Too many take-outs in front of the telly,

Skin is pale, legs like jelly,

Take out trash, take-out belly,

Passing wind, pass the Rennies,

Need to cook and save the pennies,

Too much take-out food.

Delete the apps and cancel the man,

Can’t think how all this began,

Gotta start cooking – draw a line in the sand,

Shake the pots and rattle the pans,

You cook, me cook – I think we can,

No more take-out food.

© Sarah Ogilvie 2025