Don't Want That Food - a poem

My not-so-picky tongue would not appreciate
Were the offered meal to pass my lips
Be it piled high upon a shiny spoon
or borne neatly on fork holding fingertips

Twixt my teeth the portion shall not pass
And with these words, I say it for last
Were the taste across my palate surely to falter
Everything in my power I'd do to make it halt

Not a taste I enjoy, the texture is degrading
While the dinner upon the table, my plate
My appetite should be now fading
But alas, such a dish is what I hate.