Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋

Seething With Age

No one eats cheese as old as me.
If I were wine,
too precious to uncork.
I'm not even allowed on a shelf,
locked away in a cellar
with no temperature variance
outside 52 to 55. You would think
I'd be eyed by
all the lovers and dreamers
of special concoctions like me
that took their time to age,
bitter yet sweet, though
not tempting enough
for all the passersby who
barely get a hint
of what I'm eminating.

Reflecting, deflecting
in the dark
in the corner, in my
purgatorium/cemetarium,
wax me, cork me, full
of life's scintillating nostalgia, but,
oh no, not for you who
dines with store-bought cheddar,
aged 90 days in resealable cellophane,
sipping a glass of twist top
Moscato plied from a pulpy bath
at an industrial vineyard.

I'll age a little longer, inhale
some of what I'm breathing,
as I cozy up to dark, bourbon mash.

Enjoy your microwave corndogs!

8.5.21

Hmm, ageism? Not so much in this community, me thinks.
Yes, I made that word up:
http://ninjawords.com/Cemetarium
Pinterest it like Lou:
https://www.pinterest.com/louhellbaby/cemetarium/

Where are you, Bethany? You should be reading me.