I cooked my math book in a broth
and stirred it to a steaming froth.
I threw in papers, pencils too,
to make a pot of homework stew.

I turned the flame up nice and hot
and tossed my binder in the pot.
I sprinkled in my book report
with colored markers by the quart.

Despite it's putrid, noxious gas,
I proudly took my stew to class,
and though the smell was so grotesque,
I set it on my teacher's desk.

My teacher said, "You're quite a chef.
But still you're going to get an 'F.'
I didn't ask for 'homework stew.'
I said 'Tomorrow, homework's due.'"