Prompt Master Poems

The Betrayal of Lamb

The scent arrives before the plate,
a promise drifting through the air,
warm as laughter in a crowded kitchen,
rich as stories told too close to dinner.

Garlic sighs.
Rosemary sings.
Smoke curls like a whispered secret
I want to believe.

Barbecue flame kisses fat to fire,
roasted edges crackle with confidence,
and for a moment I am certain,
this time will be different.

Surely something that smells like heaven,
cannot belong to disappointment.

I watch it carved, tender and shining,
juices glimmering with invitation.
Everyone nods approvingly,
as though sharing a truth;
my mouth has yet to learn.

I take a bite.

And there it is,
that taste.
Mild. Wild. Unwelcome.
A grassy echo that lingers too long,
like earth refusing to leave my tongue.

My face stays polite,
but my soul retreats.

How cruel,
that aroma and flavor live such separate lives,
one a poem written in smoke and spice,
the other a sentence I cannot finish.

I want to love you, lamb.
I really do.

Your perfume fills rooms with comfort,
turns kitchens into celebrations,
makes hunger feel romantic.
But the moment we meet honestly,
you and I disagree completely.

So I sit there wishing my taste buds spoke,
the same language as my nose.

Line Count: 40
Prize Prompt: The thing that is the least acceptable flavor.
Written for: "PromptMaster !"