From one of America's wittiest children's poets, a debonair last collection of verse, uneven in tone and quality but including some gems. The title poem is a deligthful extension of the familiar camp/army song ""The biscuits that they give us. . ."" (""And it really wouldn't be just/To claim I knew it is hard to chew--/Not till I break the crust""). The appeal of some is more sophisticated: ""Ode,"" a confection of wordplay and parody beginning ""The boy stood on the burning deck"" (""But sad to add his voice went bad:/It cracked on the high sea. . .For every cabin boy in time/Must suffer a C change""); or, ""The Man with Nothing to Say,"" who manages to keep his audience listening with his ""really remarkable voice,"" which might well be read as an autobiographical confession applicable to the lesser poems here. That voice--along with the vision that often accompanies it--makes this a welcome addition to Ciardi's work. Lovingly illustrated with delicate, cartoon-style drawings.