Tonight you are invited to a cheese tasting where

you may sample a selection of world-class cheese:

cheese that tastes like hand-crafted teenage puns in the late ’90s

cheese that was the first of its generation, connoisseurs swear The Only:

the only cheeses with any meat in them, sometimes literally,

the only cheeses that were whipped up by prom queens and squares:

prom queens who turned out to be a goddess and a vampire slayer

squares who turned out to be the greatest witch of the West and a survivor:

surviving seven brands of apocalypse of varying sharpness

surviving one hundred and forty four slices of aged gouda:

age that lingers on the tongue like the kiss of an angel

gouda that refuses to pair, like a spike rattling in a railroad track:

tracks of gold in this one taste like your dad’s jokes

streaks like red veins here, best to let the mouse nibble on that one:

that one you’ll return to again and again, a favorite for sure

that one you’ll pass every time after the first taste:

the first taste may be bold yet lack a certain definition, true,

the second, third tastes let the flavor deepen, complicate, mature:

mature for an audience of sixteen, rarely invited to sleepovers

mature for an audience still unkissed and afraid of Truth or Dare:

Truth—which one do you like the best?

or Dare—try this one:



Jessica Hudson is a graduate teaching assistant working on her Creative Writing MFA at Northern Michigan University. She is an associate editor for Passages North. Her work has been published in The Pinch, Pithead Chapel, and perhappened mag, among others.