Bluish grey with porous skin

a stench of rotting wood

sliced or ground or finely grated

I'd ban it if I could



Shaded yellow. Scarred with holes

Textured smooth as silk

Aroma drenched with stale, damp feet

Grouped with cream and milk



Sometimes orange bought in chunks

or grimly packaged tight

in glossy, white torn paper

by a grocer clothed in white



Munster. Ugh! I hate it!

On my belt it floats on by

the stale smell clouds my vision

as I feel an urge to cry



Reluctantly I bag it

although I'd rather quit and run

but at Shop-rite it's required

that you service everyone



"How can people buy this?"

As my stomach starts to queeze

the aftertaste is vile

I despise the thought of cheese.