There is nothing dignified about a donut.
It is the most pedestrian of pastries.
Lacking in any elegance and panache,
It sits like a squat simpleton
On top of the glass case containing its classier relatives,
All more sophisticated and European than the next—
The biscotti, the croissant, the crepe, the scone,
The asiago and cheddar Bavarian-style pretzel.
And while some hipsters try to dress it up
With bacon and lavender and irony,
It remains the crudest of carbs.
There is something painfully honest about a donut.
It does not delude you with promises
Of health or vitality.
It contains no flax seeds, no yogurt, no soy,
No whole grains harvested from organic fields.
It is unable to dissemble. It is what it is:
A deep fried, yeasty, round blob of dense dough,
A cheap, convenience store quickie.
It’s the way I ruin the most important meal of the day,
My morning mistake,My late-for-work shame.
I used today's prompt from NaPoWriMo: write a poem about an inanimate object.
Image from Sweet Clip Art