Hour 23: A poem about cheese

When my sister and I were young girls
My mother bought us slices of
waxy cheese wrapped individually in plastic
To eat on our sandwiches.

My aunt, who had five children,
All of them older than my sister and I,
Always had Velveeta at her house.
We thought they were very lucky.

My father bought himself Swiss cheese.
Not because he refused to share it,
But because my sister and I, and also my mother,
Wouldn’t eat “stinky” cheese.

I still don’t care for fragrant cheeses,
And I no longer eat waxy slices.
I’m not impressed by Velveeta, either.
A cheddar sharp upon the tongue?
Truly cheesy bliss!

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