I have an uncle, Tulsa Bill,
Who never has, and never will,
Embraced my culinary skill
Of coalescing meatless swill.
Why should my favorite uncle feel
The need to circumvent a meal
Prepared with broth and pulp and peel
And heated in a pot of steel?
I think, perhaps, he is not well,
Or is allergic to the smell,
Which makes his starboard nostril swell,
And then provokes a quick farewell.
Much later I receive a call,
Wherein I hear his Tulsa drawl
Explaining to me, all in all,
His taste for swill is very small.
If I could choose, I would instill
The longing for a bowl of swill
Into my favorite Uncle Bill,
So we could share a Bill swill thrill.