(I don’t know how to talk about this poem. I’m kind of ranty today. So, a ranty poem seemed fun to do. ^_^)
Every Christmas somebody makes it,
and while most are more catious
by loathsome vegetable pizza or fruitcake,
there is only one thing that I fear:
someone will call out that queso is out
I hurry to check, and find it’s not.
Putting Rotel in it doesn’t help it.
No amount of seasoned meat will disguise,
the flavor is anything but delicious
and calling it cheese is offensive.
I lose my appetite when I see it
I imagine the long term effects on my stomach.
It’s plastic. It tastes nothing like what it pretends to be.
An assault on your nose and mouth
like burned rubber tasting
worse than soured milk,
and people call it “liquid gold”
I just turn my nose up and sneer.
You can’t pour it into a bowlful of chips
call it nachos and present it to me.
I will feel sick, and go to bed,
don’t try to force me to “Just try it.”
I won’t change my mind in “one bite”.
You can’t fool me! This isn’t cheese!
Go eat your weird plastic food with the others.
You can pretend that it’s cheese among them.