Condiments

 

I asked the man for mayonnaise

He gave me mustard instead.

I told him I prefer white, not yellow

To sit upon my bread.

 

To see him look at me in disgust

As he handed me that jar

Made me wonder what it was I did;

Had I really gone too far?

 

But, no, I was in my rights to say:

“I do not like that spread.

And as for ketchup, I confess

I just don’t like that red.”

 

“Some would grab a packet or two

Of spicy barbeque;

But brown is ugly and not right.

I see it. Why can’t you?”

 

“Relish on a sandwich with a shade like green

Is not understandable.

And orange is a color I won’t allow

To pass my mandible.”

 

“That Thai satay is much too brown

And srahacha is just too pink

Salsa is crimson; it’s out too.

That’s just the way I think.” 

 

“’You are what you eat,’ as the pundits say,

Which is why I won’t eat black.

 The colors of the rainbow may appeal to you,

But they’re not what I will snack.”

 

“So out with chutney and out with honey

They will never be on my diet.

Just give me my white mayonnaise

Or I will not be quiet.”

 

The man with the mustard heard my thoughts,

But I was shocked by what he said.

“I don’t hate those condiments half as much

As the color of your bread.”

 

©2020 Alan Smason