my stomach grumbles
because i haven’t yet had my morning bagel
and it’s already nearing 8:30
and i can’t help but fantasize
about how the everything seasoning will feel in my mouth/
taste on my tongue/
how the cream cheese will add that special something–
and my stomach complains louder
as i contemplate my breakfast
instead of simply starting it/
making it to be eaten//
this poem is torture to my digestive tract
and i need to apologize
but first i must somehow poetize
the fact that i never get sick of bagels
because they are
so
damn
good.