It a dreadful disgrace:
I’ve come down with a case
of the loneliest lunch lady blues.
Full of lonesome regret
from my hair in a net
to my soles of my sensible shoes.
Every student I see
never asks about me
when they gather in line with their tray.
Never “How do you do?”
Nary “What’s new with you?”
Only, “What’s on the menu today?”
I’m not saying they’re rude;
They’re fixated on food
while I’m doling out carrots and peas,
but it’s never been said,
“You look lovely!” instead
of “Can I get some tater tots, please?”
I have plenty to say
on the average day,
but I’m clearly and dearly depressed
that they don’t ever speak
to me five days a week,
and they don’t even need me the rest.
I’ve got stories to swap
as I’m slinging their slop.
We could chat about weather or news,
But they’re all disinclined
to pay me any mind,
so I’m stuck with these lunchlady blues.