Hooray! Hooray! It’s Bagel Day!
Or so I’ve heard it said,
So substitute a bagel
For some ordinary bread.
Since many so-called “bagels”
Don’t have what it really takes
To be authentic, you may find
You’ve scarfed down lots of fakes.
Do not be fooled by circled dough
Around a center hole.
They must be dense and chewy
Like New York ones – that’s the goal.
Now other places have their fans,
(Hats off to Montreal!)
But some who serve a puffed-up version
Have a lot of gall.
To me, some seeds are needed -
Poppy, sesame and, too,
In pumpernickel, caraway,
And more than just a few.
A bagel’s a delicious treat
So eat it your own way,
But I need no reminding,
For I eat one every day!
Do you really love me?
Or am I here to substitute a broken throne?
The one you dismantled by leaving her utterly & completely alone.
You cannot substitute another for another and suddenly call it a home.
How dare you use both of us as props while you just sit there & roam.
No I will not be a puppet to your never-ending misery.
And if you find another who manipulates, that is your own karma to your never-ending trickery.
You have to know by now that it starts with you.
To stop hiding the parts of you that remain true.
Do you really love me?
Or am I here so you don't die alone?
Because I am not changing for you when I have my own magic to give to my own throne.
Do not block another's love because you yourself remain lonely.
Your loneliness is not my problem, wake up so you can go back to your one & only.
The world is in alignment when you two are working together.
Just evaluate what's around you & feel the wind in the weather.
One pint of sherry wine
says the recipe
which finds me asking
can I substitute a gallon of Chablis
or even quarts of Scotch or Bourbon
pretend I am wallowing in my past
quelling my misery
while waving my alcoholism in Death’s face
One pound of macaroons
It says
They’ll place their calories under my nose
add pounds
more than the mere seventeen
I gained when the doctor told me not to walk
creating this newest morbidly overweight me
not trifling with death here either
One quart of cream whipped
will leave me more than sedentary
stiff
actually
and one whole egg flaunts current conventions
thumbs its nose against my clogged arteries
and helps me laugh at the second
or third
helping of those air saturated
cream calories
standing tall over that
custard basted, wine soaked,
pound of Lady Fingers.
Reality is never what it seems
when trifles say they serve 12.
Queen of Trifles, The Settlement House Cookbook, page 372