Was I not tasty enough?

Am I food wedged between your teeth?

And every which way you use your tongue to get me out

And when that doesn’t work, you dislodge me with an instrument sharp as a scythe,

who died not I

But with pride,

you chisel out what is unpleasant and spit it out for your own well-being

Would you rather have a metal pot sing as a spittoon site with what you discard, than serenade me with a tune of delight,

My lips have scarred from speaking in deaf ears, 

A maître d in a venue of unfulfilled chairs

I’m seeing that maybe you find me bitter?

Each course is my own deduction in your scale of value

Your nose, wrinkles at my seduction out of five stars you rate me less than two

Why do I even bother to try when I’m always the last on your plate?

Your lips purse me away as if your hands and body language didn’t already accomplish to do so

Look at you through the reflection of your spoon,
a receptor to “palatable” elements only

You stimulate your senses of what you choose, and not of what you need

Have I not been plated to perfection?

Perhaps you prefer your delicacies on your grandmothers, pristine China, and easy-to-swallow lies that fill up hearty goblets to experience the only royalty you can twice a year

Your hands wouldn’t be reference in its care anyhow

And like your eyes and appetite, its gourmand desires tell me off like a flip phone.

As you take to your napkin under your chin, the droplet that sparkles by your mouth is you salivating snobbery

The culinary connoisseur you are

Could you even tell a climactic masterpiece with carefully chosen colors and flavors adorning the rim of your plate from the C-grade lunch special that has been frozen and reheated many a time?

Somehow my garnishes displease your sight

In unison, I provide fine dining while you gag for your need of preferred poor feasting

Curse the impulse to please the unpleasant