surrounded by the lounging crowd,
in formal dress and fancy suits,
I sit awkwardly on a couch,
as unfamiliar faces loom.
"enough!" I cry inside my head,
as relatives unknown discuss
the newly married bride and groom.
"I'll have no more of this", I think,
and wander off to find a space
away from all this wretched noise.
I come upon the snack table -
a veritable feast of food.
more types of cheese did reside there
than I had ever seen before.
these cheeses are a varied lot,
some orange, some yellow, white, or beige.
some came from cows, some came from goats,
and some from dairy substitutes.
they called to me so teasingly,
"you cannot eat us all," they chide.
enraged, I challenge them and claim
that I could eat them any day.
with trusty crackers as my sword,
and napkin serving as my shield,
I plunge into this deadly test
of perserverence, strength, and wit.
the cheeses are quite sinister -
they will resort to any trick,
like hiding jalapeno bombs
(whose poignant flavors burned my tongue),
or crumbling quickly out of reach.
alas, I fight them, one by one,
a vicious clash of cheese and sword
(my vorpal blade goes snicker-snack!)
I send those snacks right to their grave.
I dive and slash and stab and slice
they counter quite evasively.
but bit by bit, and piece by piece,
I vanquish daring dairy foes.
my arms are spiderwebbed with scars,
the floor is strewn with their debris.
a murky dust covers the room,
the ghosts of cheeses slain in war.
I promptly walk up to the bar,
victoriously, I buy a sprite.
...when I'm tired of giving...