How do I hate you? Let me count the ways.
I hate you for that swiftly cooling glaze
Which sets before you even reach my plate.
Can no chef keep you in a warmer state?
I hate you for your taste and smell. They’re brassical.
Their aftermath is classically gassical.
And, what is more, I know each rumbling burp’ll
Prove I hate you -- green or sprouting purple.
I hate you for your little flecks of green
Which stick between my teeth and always mean
My dinner dates, convinced that I have caries,
Say “No” persistently. It never varies.
Your flowers are cold, your stalks are indigestible.
Your side effects and taste are both detestable.
You wreck my social life. It’s incontestable --
Broccoli, you are a vile comestible.
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