Our cook is a fat man
who dances when he walks
his brown eyes are so full of love
that we young lads avoid him,
but not today when freshly made loafs wafts from his galley
and we queue up for a slice with strawberry jams on.
This is his day
and he happily laughs
as we try to evade his roaming hands.
Evening and nights are his own
sits in his cabin that is always locked
we don’t know
but think he dresses a flowery frock and wears make up.
Since he’s not one of us
he never joins in when we go to bars
where women whisper words of insincere love
and a juke box blares,
he walks alone to a café uptown
eat cream cakes and mysteriously smiles.