asked what I desire for breakfast,
replied, scones and crumpets from the
good ole U. of K. with a cups of celebratory
Jamaican coffee  (tee-hee)

she did not even bother
to snort in an elegant
derisory manner,
just walked away,
just turned on her
high heeled sneakers,
(a very worthy sight),
“prithee, grilled cheese sandwiches,
it is then,”
quoting the Bard

alright.

No need to ask me which cheese,
she experientially knowledgeable
in my hard milk acculturation,
one will be home grown ameddican,
real cheese, not Kraft “cheese food”
the other swiss, unless
smoked mozzarella is in the larder,
(who has a larder anymore?)

as I am in matters of cheese,
I’m a transgender, formerly bisexual,
but still a questionable, open minded,
but globalist willing to
entreat any country that values
cheese above war