Cheese Ring

a poem by Roger B Rueda

for Arleen

On the table lay a wrapper of Cheese Ring:

by itself  is a carroty ring left behind.

I stared at it, gobsmacked, a bit diverted.

Shyness got through it, perhaps

or chock-fullness.

It must have felt lonelier in the middle

of nowhere.

It must have been muddled.

It must have been woebegone.

It must have thought it was flukier

than most.

When it saw the lizard

crawling up  towards it,

it heaved a weary sigh.

When the waiter came,

it smiled, it tittered.

It shivered with fear when he

was about to tip it

into the bin of oddments.

It tasted good with a creamy texture

after I laid hold of it and hurled it to my gob.