Allergic

My personality was a block of cheddar cheese. Well sized, rich in color, sharp to the tongue. We grated it down, we spread it on burnt toast. It became breakfast lunch and dessert. There are still bits of me melted into the edge of the pan, into the corners of the stove. We knew you were slightly allergic. I think about this while I drop my jacket at the dry cleaners. What does it say that it cost more to clean than it did to purchase? The irony reminds me of you, like the Alanis Morissette song but not as annoying. I’m thinking less about the expense and more about why we’re still wearing our heavy coats in May. I draft the rhetorical question into a tiny blue block thinking I’ll send it to the bottom of your back pocket. I make it to the end of my thought but I don’t deliver.