A tin of small sardines
Is my daily sin
I chop the onion thin
And wash some four tomatoes clean
Rescued, my luck, from the desperate bin
A coffee cup of chilli pepper, sharp as a pin
Will help me spice away my spleen
Even more, I convince myself, than a barrel of gin
I throw tomatoes, onion rings and chilli pepper into a spin
It’s now the turn of both sardines, on which my taste is keen
Why be shy, let me keep the oil the two sardines were bathing in
How lucky that, in all this fat, they at least could stay so thin
Of course, they couldn’t in earnest care a tiny bit to be as lean
They are some lightweight fish, with careless fragile skin
And yet they fled from storms and followed sterns on tiny fins
Which put to shame the fishing boats exhibiting their proud lateens
But wait, before the hunger’s lost in reverie that makes me maudlin
It’s time to put the final touch, as a droplet of vinegar sour as a grin
Is poured to tame the taste of wildest seas within a tin of small sardines