To a Bagel
Little puffy girdling bagel,
all lonesome in your see-through cradle,
what shall I smear across your navel,
Some jam scooped up in a sturdy ladle
the size of a putter?
You’re incomplete and yet you fill
me fuller than a hotel bill,
far more than any wafer will.
On the table,
jam, in haste, begins to spill
and stick the label.
As I approach you with my cutter,
tongue abuzz and gut aflutter,
voices in me seem to shudder,
“No! Don’t kill!”
But I, my relish quick and thorough,
devour you still.
From “Disoccidented” by Alfie Shoyger: