poems about onion bagels

the cup is handled

and notched

it is tilted at a 45-degree angle

now at a 46-degree angle

now 47, now 48

the yellow creeps toward the notch

with absolutely

no

sense

of urgency

it is yellow and

it is clear and

it is clear bubbles inside thick strands

of yellow and clear

it slides toward the notch

at a 49-degree angle

peeking its bulbous eye

over the curved rim

of the handled glass cup,

it pauses

then plunges

it is a thick elastic strap of yellow and clear

stretching and straining

it is thin

it is thick

it is thin

and

it splatters on the golden

ring below

splatter

smack

steam and spray

cool egg

meets hot crust

coating

and clinging

to every curve

somebody should put that thing in the oven

’cause right now

it’s inedible