Why must it always be tomato soup?
I look down at the menu in despair
Knowing that most members of the group
Assembled here for lunch won’t even care
And wouldn’t think of change, or even stoop
To take their monthly custom to somewhere
That offered them a choice. The waiters swoop –
I wonder for a moment if I dare –
Is that the only soup you have today?
The waiter bends to me, says for a small
Increase in price perhaps, then looks away
Towards the hidden chef behind a wall,
There could be something else if I could pay
Oh yes,I say, and then he stands up tall
And announces to the room, there’s consommé!
Oh dear, I’ll have tomato after all.