Takeaway Sadness

One a.m. Stomach rumbling, driving home from a rocking gig.
The message athunderin’ from my tum shouts a big,”No” to pie&chips.
I feel too dizza for any kinda pizza, too loud for a shush kebab
And that Southern fried Colonel’s chicken concoctions only make me gag.
I just don’t fancy a biriani,
or a burger served up fast
But if I get no grub I know I’ll be up
all night dreaming of breakfast.
Two a.m. and I’m weakening,
tried every take away restaurant
the Baltis, the Chinese, even cafes,
not one of them serves what I want, 

3.00am. now, I’m dying and know it,

I’m even beginning to show it,
and as I see myself getting thinner
my rumbly tumbly still rumbles and tumbles
for a take away scrumptious roast dinner.  (Swimming in gravy!)