Cheese Please

Cheese please.

I've had my meat -- too bloody chewy, red death in a faraway
place, air freight made straight to the plate -- no thanks.

But Cheese, creamy life in wheels and shavings, oozing out
the sides, spread it on my days while I strain to hear that sacred mooing.

Cheese please, with a history of a life well lived one slice
at a time, that could've been curd, stayed cool in a cup all
clotted up -- plopped into the ripe-center of my melon
mornings or chilled in a glass, cold milk, that's class, drink
thick white love one sip at a time and leave it on your lip.

Cheese please... with the cow left in it and her long summer
day musings, the farmer with dreams of catnap's after lunch
and the sprawling yard with muddy clumps, the carpets of teaming
grass they lived on, the birds flying blessings overhead breathing blue
into their lungs, their lives, my cheese, my glorious cheese.