Toast, a poem

I am toast

Under the broiler

baking under the

judgment of condescending coils

who question me

for details outside my control

Waiting for

someone to come take. me. out.

Set me gently

on the front, i said on the front. burner.

And cover me with perfectly sweet toppings

And celebrate my simplicity

who brings out my truest flavor

and if I am forgotten?

I am toast



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