Cheese (Hour 23)

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

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