The Hungry Guest

I came for supper, even though I feel
Your cooking isn't worth a bitter fig.
It seemed that you accepted my red wig,
Which certainly looked more upset than real,
And these old trousers, and the single wheel
Attached to each shoe, and the beaded rig
My brand new belt consists of, not too big
For fondling, but you would not serve the meal.

You told me I was getting no dessert,
No sweet completing things, no savoury start,
No vegetables, no lamb, no mincemeat tart,
Because you looked at me, and your eyes hurt.
I'm not quite ready to explain my shirt,
So colourful and frenzied. Like my heart.