Basket

In a corner of the set, placed askew,
My wicker basket waits for the brew.
Between takes, between scenes,
It soothes hunger and moods unseen.

Cereal bars, an old croissant,
Warm juice forgotten long past dawn,
Soft candies, melted chocolate delight,
And that sandwich… a mysterious bite.

The director snaps, the actor’s starving,
The DP’s craving his serving!
But who saves the shoot and the whole crew?
It’s me, it’s her—my basket true.

For without coffee, without a bite,
A shoot’s a ship lost in the night.
So cheers to wicker, my treasured friend,
Without her, hunger means the end!