“Sushi me again, Dad.”
“I’d be skippingly glad to…
Not end this line with a preposition!
You’ve had six against my measly three,
And, though good grammar should levy
No heavy imposition on a father’s love,
I’m sure you’ll agree you already
Requisition the best of me,
My copper-headed dove.
Now please leave me be
With the last pea of soy,
And the baby-poop wasabi
Only I seem not to be nasally above—
But, lovey, if you’re quick with your bamboo clicks,
I’d be fuller to sit back into your once-more joy
Than to steal that smile with my chopsticks.
Sushi you again, baby.”