Cabals of photographers use cheese to make children smile.
How they find it’s the only word that makes them show cameras their teeth, I don’t know.
Efforts I make to fall in love with cheese tend to race away behind me.
Each time I try, Mama’a cuisine beckons and Papa’s spices assault my nostrils.
So I am going to give this cheese to the photographer, not the chef;
each of us ebbing time away on the platter of customs.
Written as an acrostic poem from the text prompt of Hour 23.
Featured image source: Freepik
“the platter of customs”. Powerful ending! I love acrostic poems so this was fun to read.
Different strokes for different folks, they say.
Thanks.
This is wonderful, sharp and funny.
I particularly love
“So I am going to give this cheese to the photographer, not the chef;
each of us ebbing time away on the platter of customs.”
🙂 Thanks.
Perhaps, sometime, we should have vegetable soup/stew prompts.