Desk Burrito

Desk burrito, it is assaulting my senses
It's been in that desk since. . .don't know how long now.

A rancid-lard one—
Rotting there at least one season.
Beans and cheese in it—just goo;
Don't smell like a flower.

Well, I just pulled out that desk drawer—Eww!!
My feet don't feel too stable.
Steaming stench has my equilibrium upset.

Reeling, I extract that vile thing
And lay it down on a table,
While I watch the maggots do a pirouette.

Desk burrito—I wish it was a lot younger.
It's abated my hunger more than a haggis scone.

The cheese scum, that cheese scum looks like it's walking—
It's a camouflaged roach stalking a dead-mouse bone.

I have got to remove this fermented slime—
Put it in a bin with a pound of lime
And beg the trashman to take it away.

It'll never be the same, my nose. . .
Don't think the odor will ever go away.

Desk burrito, it resembles menses.
I breached furnace defenses and opened the grate.

Incineration: from that high smokestack above spewed
The smoke from what was once good lunch food.
I just couldn't wait.