A Late-Night Cheese Episode In A Restaurant, With Some Comic Deafness And A Passing Reference To Footwear

The waiters stood by in the empty salon,

Waiters indeed, for it wasn't quite empty…

There was cheese on their plates, and the long night grew longer,

His passion was strong, but the Stilton was stronger.

“More, my dear… ?”  “Wine? I’ve already had plenty.”

“Try this Clond roux Rouy – it comes from Dijon.”

His ardour was hot as a Colby Jack Longhorn

(That’s a cheese from Montana with blazing black peppers).

Her lusty Pálpusztai lay untouched on the platter.

That word ‘Longhorn’ tickled him – he gave vent to the matter:

“Fermented from lactate of one year-old heifers… ”

And she said, “I believe it could have been Pangbourne.”

He roared to the waiters, “Come bring me Scamorza!

With olives and chutney and fine ratatouille!”

The yawning old servants lurched to attention

(One was a corporal, retired on half-pension,

Another had gone for a well-needed pee.)

“But why - ?” (Of Destino he felt the full Forza!)

“ – do you want gumboots at this hour?” she wondered.

“I didn’t say gumboots! I asked for some chutney,

To go with a cheese of sterling nobility!

I hear it is made in the Alps of north Italy.”

“Did you just announce that you wanted to fuck me?”

She asked. “Did you,” he roared, “just say you don’t 
          like Olomoucké syrečky?”