THIS IS A POEM ABOUT GOAT CHEESE 6.6.17

 

6.6.17

I desire to live

but it is difficult,

it is difficult

to convince other people

of my worth when I have

trouble finding coriander seeds

at the grocery store. It gets worse.

I asked the man in uniform, Sir

where is the goat cheese? And he stared

at me, as if I’d said the most profound thing

in the most obvious way, and he pitied me

and hated me and wanted to devour my

soul. But instead he pointed two feet to

my left, where there was a literal pyramid

of goat cheese, six thousand varieties

gleaming like polished teeth, waiting

for me to make my move, waiting

for me to die

of shame.

 

 

 

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