Garniture

If people knew, would they even care
that as I sleepily prepare
their food I’m contemplating verse,
not the value of my purse
or even if they’ll like their fare.

The sizzle of my trusty grill,
the moaning of an empty till
are muted by the measured stride
that marches on inside my hide
with but one mission – to fulfill

this aching urge I’ve had since birth
to somehow justify my worth
by pouring out my hapless heart
in ways that could be seen as art
embellished with a hint of mirth.