Noble Rot

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You never pass it by without a bite,
no matter what its origin or date,
if offered by a lusty lass who might
‘ve stuck the cube on twiddle-sticks as bait
to reel you in, with others of your ilk,
to buy a wedge from this un-super mart.
It makes a mint from selling mouldy milk,
as you well know. You reckon you’re too smart
to fall for that old trick, won’t pass your card
so profits upward tick where milk has had
its life skimmed out, thinking you’re wholly hard.
You won’t, you say, follow the latest fad.
       I watch you drop four cream buns in the cart
       and know that what you’ve said’s a load of clart.