The Exact Shade of Ketchup

At that party, thin smiles and wine,

someone asked, "What talent's thine?"

And I just stared, a little blank,

my clever thoughts all gone and sank.

I could have said I'm good with words,

or that I recognize all birds

by call, but no, the truth was worse.

My mind went straight to this absurd

small gift, a thing I only know

from years of watching sauces flow:

I can tell, blindfolded, by the taste,

if it's Heinz or Hunt's, no time to waste.

The exact shade of sweetness, salt,

a secret skill, entirely my fault

for learning. No practical use,

just wasted hours, a small abuse

of palate. But it makes me smile,

this useless thing, for a little while.

Better than pretending I could sing.

Better than explaining everything.