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A Poem: Royal Beef Burger 

“Royal beef burger,
well done,
no tomato,”
she said,
as her hand swung
pendulum-like
emphasizing the “no.”

He mocked her gesture.
She coyly recoiled.
“Fine then. I won’t
talk with my hands anymore,”
she said with a playful pout
and motioned her arms
to her sides, parking her
hands on the booth’s bench.

“Oh, no, don’t,” he comically cried.
“Why?” she laughingly asked.
“It’s too charming,” he gallantly replied.

The waitress wandered over
with their Royal Beef Burgers.
He looked at hers and, with a pendulum-like hand,
said, “No tomato.”

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