Poetry Pie

I set out before you my new poem-
freshly made-
carefully prepared-
a little proud that all the words
fit together so well.

Like a meal, I've presented it to you
and watch as you peck away slowly.

I watch your expression.

Wait for your approval.

Anxious as you digest the poem
right before my eyes.

"Too depressing."
"Wrong subject matter."
"Awkward structure."

I'm not surprised that
you found no flavor in it.

You have no taste.