No Mayo

I can’t find decent mayonnaise of late.
I’d make my own, but it goes bad too fast –
my need is sparing, for I nearly hate
the stuff, enough I fantasized a vast
conspiracy of friends who’d say they ate
it, just to freak me out. I know at last
it’s gold to you; to me it’s merely lube,
and I don’t want to take it from a tube.

(Ottava Rima)

This entry was posted in Coronaverse, Food, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

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