Her Eyebrows Crinkle

Her eyebrows crinkle
and her mouth puckers in distaste.
Bitter she calls it.
Sour they say.
A matter of taste.
She laughs when she tells them she prefers
something with a little crunch.
Something a little more wild.
Cranberries, Oats, Sunflower seets
Mixed in the wind
with sea salt and loam.
Aged and experienced perfectly.
She refuses to settle for
Homogenized white bread,
made the week before and stuck on a shelf,
Bought because it's cheap and easy.
Not when she could have Ezekiel.
After all, she says, it IS a matter of taste