at the bagel shop – or – at the doctor’s office

wrapped in flimsy paper,
each crinkle-producing movement is amplified
you are examined, squeezed,
sometimes even cut

you wonder:
do i look okay?
do i smell like onion?
do they ever turn the heat on in this place?

you don’t know what’s coming next
and you grow colder
with every second






About The Author

andy

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Author’s web sitehttp://poemsaboutonionbagels.com

13

10 2009

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