Free Poetry Contests at the Poetry Free-for-All -- Editors' Challenge Contest

The succulent aroma of a most potent ambrosia, sometime in early May
Had led me, sleep-walking, by my nose- I must say-
To the place of the a.m. feast, and I slowly took a wayward glance
And as I slowly awakened, my dormant senses did, too,
Because of the delicacies of my early sustenance I'm led to the calefaction room
Where my confrer, I'll call him "Sam"; and with a sense of doom
I'm presented with my feast,
With a "Bon Appetit!"I look under the cover, glare in disgust as Sam says, "Say Ahh!"
For looking at my porcine slabs of SUS SCROFA
And the ovum of the GALLUS DOMESTICUS
My sleep-filled eyes detect a blue-yellow hue, kind-of like puss.Green, jade, olive, lime; whatever,
This cuisine was not my type, not ever.
Clearly quite old; petrified in fact
(I could tell by the expression of the ovum, I think it cracked!)

I called said Sam back to my side at length
And yelled at him with quiet strength
"I do not like these, Sam" I said
And rising, aimed my vittles at his head;I missed his eye, but got his nose,
Dripped down his chin onto is clothes;
And as I stormed away I saw another party, we'll call him "Rover"
Did not care about the cuisine's foul shade, moreover.Fortunately, he's color blind
And at the moment, i don't mind
That he's licking from Sam's face, the goo,
And as he chews, thinking "I do like them, Sam, I do"