Aye, throw the nasty stuff away!
    Long has it browned in here
And though it was tasty in its day
    Time has turned it bad, I fear:
The lumpy mix of green and red
    Once heralded our joy -
But now it's brown and so instead
    The goop we must destroy.

Our tongues, once red with peppers' heat
    (Yet avocado-cooled)
Will no more feel quite so elite:
    Chartreuse was overruled.
No more our favorite dip shall live
    To be our party's crown.
The fridge was so insensitive
    It turned our green to brown.

Oh, better that we'd finished it
    Before it got so old
And ate it all up, bit by bit,
    'Till none was left to mold.
The dip, consuméd in its time
    Would never fade in fame,
But remain to us a paradigm:
    True guacamole's aim.

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