BYOD

George and Sarah took a trip,
Their poodle, Betsy, by their side,
To China and the Orient,
By the ocean and the tide.

Neither spoke the language well,
Nor did they know the ancient ways
Of long revered tradition
And the most sacred of their days.

Such a day it was today,
Though out and about they were;
All the streets were still and quiet,
So very few did work or stir.

They came upon an eatery
Of seditious name and creed;
Still, they longed to eat and rest
And neglect its fame and heed.

They entered the establishment
With relief and calm and glee;
Excited, too, was Betsy,
Enough to dance and cry and pee.

"Oh please,” Sarah tried to say
And well make it understood,
"Would you take her out somewhere
So that eat our food we could?”

The Chinese waiter scratched his head;
He clearly did not guess or know
What Miss Sarah asked of him
Or whether he should stay or go.

George stepped in and made a plea
With his gestures, voice, and hands,
With plain decisive measure
An infant could understand.

He pointed down at Betsy:
"Please take her with you now,” he said.
He pointed at his mouth and frowned,
"So may both of us be fed.”

The waiter smiled, laughed, and nodded
As if he should have known;
In ironic consequence;
No stranger seed was cast or sown.

The waiter scooped up Betsy now
And with her walked and left the room;
He returned a little later
And showed them little Betsy’s doom.

He held the platter high and grinned;
He forth held it to entice.
He plucked the lid up to behold
Poor Betsy on a bed of rice.