
The waiter frowned, began to mutter,
Picked up the knife, right from the butter.
First he slashed the evil cook
Who cried aloud and wept and shook.
Then he poked the haughty host,
Mistaking him for untouched toast.
Spreading mayhem, woe and pain
The waiter's rage began to wain.
The screaming stopped, the day grew darker,
And so appeared the spectral Parker.
Speaking from the other side,
Her caustic shade, morose and snide,
Cleared its throat, was heard to utter,
"If you're the knife, god help the butter."