Lard (a Luc Bat lament)

Greasy, clammy and cold
And by the block, it's sold, and stacked
On supermarket racks
In unassuming packs, beside
The butters, where it hides,
With diminishing pride regards
Its status as a lard,
Manufactured by 'Kard,' and not
A lovely creamy pot.
You've got to wonder what it is
To be lowly as this.
There's no one who could wish to be
As undesired as he;
So clammy and greasy and cold.