Little puffy girdling bagel,
all lonesome in your see-through cradle,
what shall I smear across your navel,
peanut butter?
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.
