Suddenly my nostrils fill
with a most alarming smell
like something cooking, something dead.
I realize I've burnt the bread.
Now a disk of lava rock
it delivers a tasteless shock
to tastebuds filled with disappointment.
I think this calls for an ointment
like globs of jelly, strawberry jewels--
toppings are a baker's tools.
Onion cream cheese, caviar,
melted butter from a jar.
Will this toast escape detection
if it is masked by these confections?
Through the jellied pool of fruit,
you can't tell it's black as a root.
Crusty as an iron ring,
bitterness makes our throats sting.
Unidentified blackened bits
might have been raisins or walnut pits.
The wheat is scorched
the rye is dry
all flavor evaporates
into the sky.
Once a perfect slice of heaven,
I kneaded you, I watched you leaven.
I dusted you with cloudy yeast,
but now you are a stony beast.
You could pave a sidewalk or
survive at the sun's molten core.
Because you cannot be defeated,
the package lied; the toaster cheated.
Jackhammers buckle on your face,
Spartans grimace at your taste.
Because my toaster went amok,
you'd make a sturdy hockey puck.
I wash you with a load of reds;
now the clothes are torn to shreds.
I wash you with a lot a soap;
the washer broke--is there no hope?
Stop it, toast! You are so cruel!
Now I feel like a fool.
Why do you mock me? Tell me, tell!
you demonic toast from hell.
I wasted all my jam on you
and now I don't know what to do,
so I will eat a wheat tortilla
or some pasta--mama mia!
