Take-Out

I really do not understand
Why people take out food,
Though I admit there are some times
I, too, am in the mood.

The food will never taste as good
As when it’s first prepared,
And when you nuke it, it sogs out
And cannot be repaired.

You eat on paper plates or else
The dishes that you own,
And you’ll be interrupted
By the TV or the phone.

When you are finished eating
All that take-it-home cuisine,
You cannot quite relax because
There’s quite a mess to clean.

I much prefer a restaurant
With dim-lit atmosphere.
Somebody serves my food to me
And pours my wine or beer.

The table is already cleared;
Somebody else has cooked.
There is no dust or clutter,
Or at least not where I looked.

When I am done they take my plate
And I don’t wash the dishes.
It’s almost like a fairy tale
When someone gets three wishes.

If I’m not eating out
I would prefer a home-cooked meal;
And since my husband’s quite the chef,
I’ve got the better deal.