I couldn't help but stop and stare
At the new dinner lady standing there.
I learned her name was Daisy DuClare,
She was buxom and bonny, with bouncy blonde hair
And delightfully dressed in blue jeans and mohair.
I joined the boisterous queue that gathered there
And pretended to be interested in the freshly-cooked fayre.
Burgers, chips, and Fish a la Meuniere.
Tempting grub, but nothing that could compare
To the dinner lady and her stainless cookware.
I was earlier coerced into a schoolboy dare
To ask her the colour of her underwear!
But rather concerned about my immediate welfare,
I simply carried my tray and sat on a chair
And attempted maths homework... six times square.
Needless to say, my mind dwelled elsewhere
To a tropical island, hot from the sun's glare.
I was living the life of a billionaire
Wearing designer shades and looking rather debonair,
And Ms DuClare was now a sexy female corsair!
She poured me Jamaican Rum coffee from the cafetiere
And offered me a bite of a fresh cream eclair.
I thanked her with a kiss and then offered to share,
She declined, citing something about 'cordon-sanitaire',
Preferring instead to play a game of Chemin De Fer.
The school siren let out a shrieking blare,
My daydream soon changed into a nasty nightmare.
"Wake up! You're late for class, Bobby-Jim Blair!"
I looked up from my plate, at the Principal's despair,
Grabbing my books, I sprinted out for some air.