The Plakka Moussaka
It shimmers and shines, It wobbles on its plate, Anemic and lackluster, You pay the tourist rate. Limp and torpid, It’s not a treat, Rather; a crushing culinary defeat. A thousand serves every day, Slab after slab; slops on the waiter’s tray, Dear tourist; to Hestia you better pray. Dolos crafts a deceptive feat, Laughing at his Moussaka; missing its divine treat, Bathed in grease, No Greeks would eat!