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Tuesday, September 22, 2015

The Bread on My Stove

Pending a visitation
to my local big box food
pharmacy clothing garden store
you know the place
where bread
appeals browned and airy
in the plastic socks
tied neatly with a length
of papered wire
red blue or green

butter and jam awaits
the smell of end season
violets onions and oranges
that boost the odor
of unscrubbed
or tar-fingered patrons

the beep of the oven timer
in its high-pitch regularity
announces that a poorly crafted
inadequately covered
in the rising phase
pile of crusty dough
not really a loaf
in a loaf pan
but on an oaf pan
dough slammed onto a flat
blistered and mottled cookie sheet
forged incomplete
through a heated cycle
to the point
where it might be edible

across the kitchen it cools
in its appearance of a pillow
cased in pale protuberances
a bread sandpaper
only slightly brown
at each end
just enough to rake a tongue
with its cheap flavors
of salt and olive oil

that's it
any more images
and I'll be forced to eat
that crappy loaf


Barry G. Wick








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