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Uneaten
There it sits
In the back
Of the fridge
Faded, deflated
Flaccid and flat
Sad and alone
Bereft of appeal
Uneaten

It was once
A proud confection
Beautiful, fulsome
Fragrant and enticing
But no more
A lump of starch now
And a blob of goo
Uneaten

Yes, stiff and shrunken
But still filled with fat
And even flavor
So what will it be?
Devour the morsel
Or scrape it
Into oblivion
Uneaten?

Or, a third way?
Levitate the glob
And containerize
Then shove it back
Even deeper in the fridge
To mellow, to cure
To steep, to age
Uneaten!
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Trump supporters are people who know what they believe.
~ JC, Bonny Doon