Thursday, April 18, 2013

NaPoWriMo, Day 18

I've combined the prompts from NaPoWriMo and Poetic Asides to make the poem below. It's a little bit of lighter fare for me.



I am the burnt bread

that sits on a trivet on
the top of the oven. The
smoke rising from the top
and the small gaps on the
side of the pan. You left
me in too long. The recipe
clearly stated 40-50 minutes.
Why would you go for the
longer time and leave me to
brown on the sides, blacken
my streusel top? Haven't you
baked others like me? You
really shouldn't quit your
day job. Now you're sitting
dejectedly in the other room,
pretending I don't exist.
I don't think you even want
to eat me now. After I cool
and you pierce me with a sharp
knife, examine my insides and
mercifully toss me in the trash.
Don't pretend like you would
enjoy me. I couldn't take being
lied to like that.

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