Fresh Roasted Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

I can't get enough of fresh roasted stuff.
The presentation of it seems customized.
As if my preference had been known to recognize.
And I don't often show that I can be surprised,
But I have jumped on tables...
When I did not expect to date,
Someone to get right to the point...
With the asking of what it is I most appreciate.
And the heat I thought I would await for and beg,
Is quickly delivered.

'Oh my.
Oh dear.'

Trust me.
Not only are you the first I knew,
Who enjoyed raw peanuts.
But to boil them before roasting them too?
Without me hinting or giving a clue?
You have no idea just how rare you are.
Why are you looking around?
As if you expect a mouse.
I know it's silly...
But I'm not into mice.

'Well...
Don't get off the table too soon.'

Stop joking.