Horsemeat

They gave us a menu as we settled down,
For a nice three-course lunch at the edge of the town.
We saw out the window some foals and a mare,
And a manky old stallion with dull, matted hair.

The menu was simple and straight to the point,
No sign of a pork chop, nor juicy lamb joint,
No fish and no beef and no mutton or veal,
Indeed, not a dish of a general appeal.

Horse d’oeuvres was either a thick donkey stew
[“Prepared from the thickest of donkeys for you.”]
Or else, if you fancied, paté de cheveaux,
Served up with some basil or green haricots.

The main course was either a fillet of foal,
Or else you could opt for the mule-in-the hole,
Or fresh strips of stallion, served up in a sauce,
[You don’t need to ask me. Horseradish, of course.]

For afters, they offered up gelding ice cream,
And something else titled “The Grand National Dream,”
And finally Black Beauty Tirimasu,
[“Prepared from the thickest of donkey for you.”]

We looked from the menu with strong equine fare,
To the manky old stallions and foals and the mare,
To the sign on the wall, saying, “Our Chef endorses
The famous old adage of horses for courses.”