Marmite

I am growing addicted to Marmite, my dear,
That loathsome substance New Zealanders
Eat, scraped up from brewers' vats, heavily
Salted, heaven on toast with some cheddar
On top (though the Kiwis, poor devils, can't
Get honest cheddar; they make do with
What the stores call “Tasty Cheese”). Mine's
The typical addict's unsavory pleasure,
But, given what I have to face every day
When I'm finished with breakfast and learning
Anew that the rotten will rule, the docile will
Shrink, and the subsequent bitterness both
Groups produce leave me hopeless
And anguished, unhappy to live,
One more helping of Marmite helps
Me to keep going, though where
I confess I don't know.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 33 times
Written on 2021-03-10 at 01:36

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