My teacher ate my homework,
which I thought was rather odd.
He sniffed at it and smiled
with an approving sort of nod.
He took a little nibble—
it’s unusual, but true—
then had a somewhat larger bite
and gave a thoughtful chew.
I think he must have liked it,
for he really went to town.
He gobbled it with gusto,
and he wolfed the whole thing down.
He licked off all his fingers,
gave a burp, and said, “You pass.”
I guess that’s how they grade you
when you’re in a cooking class.
Text © Kenn Nesbitt, reprinted from Revenge of the Lunch Ladies, published by Meadowbrook Press. Illustration © Mike & Carl Gordon. Any copying or use of this poem or illustration without consent is unlawful.
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