She thought we loved her cooking
And I didn't like to lie,
but could you just tell your grandma
"I really dislike this potpie."?

The cooked carrot and soft noodles.
It was like deconstructed *** pie.
The celery and stringy chicken.
She loved that dish, but most definitely not I.

We almost always had it,
ladled into a bowl, the smell well known.
The creamy pasta was deceiving,
the taste...well, i wish my taste buds were out on loan.

But she'd smile at us,
we'd smile at her,
we wouldn't say a word
and we would watch tv with her

I wish I could taste that concoction again,
I would eat the whole bowl.
How I wish I could hear the clanging of her cooking.
Cooking of the food I would swallow whole.
Because the dish is even worse now that she cant make it.
May as well be eating coal.
One can only wish for the stupid, stinky, lovely dish.