Public Consumption

That bagel in our waiter’s hand
Has sent me to a far-off land,
Where rings encircle dunes of sand
And toasting suns leave my crust tanned

But sadly this scene fades from sight
As soon as I take my first bite,
Warm day becomes a frigid night
Because my order’s just not right –

There are no onions in this band,
It’s plain and pitifully bland
(Yet in my want to be polite,
I swallow hard, and feign delight)

About The Author


Other posts by

Author’s web site


11 2009

Your Comment