A lot of epicureans
Are rather keen on durians,
Those Southeast Asian fruits whose taste
Is redolent of almond paste,
Of custard and of sherry wine.
Their smell, I’m told, is less benign;
It’s been compared to manky towels,
Decaying veg and emptied bowels.
Perhaps they really are a treat,
But I can’t bring myself to eat
A food whose soi-disant perfume
Has echoes of the smallest room.