(little twist on the prompt- this is about one of my least favorite foods instead)

I hate the taste of baked potatoes

I’ve never met one that I liked

They churn in my mouth like fresh-turned dirt

And sink down my throat like spikes

I try burying them with onions and cheese

And dollops of sour cream

But the graininess still overpowers them all

Like my tongue is having a bad dream

Of course I want to be cordial

When the host places food on our plates

But at sight of that awful potato

I nearly forget to say thanks

While the rest of them dine rather gaily

I try not to choke on each bite

Concentrating so hard on not gagging

Still worried I’ll be here all night

I just know that I’m no good at hiding

The disdain for potatoes I feel

As I eat, I know everyone’s thinking

As they look at me, “What’s her deal?”