Time to Make the Donuts

Whoever claims
there’s no biz like dough biz
never had to be here
at zero in the morning.
They’ve not blasted down damp streets,
the traffic lights their only company.
Never glazed and filled,
shaped and spilled,
all dry-mouthed and hungover.

You can only sweeten so much bread
until it soaks into your head
that there must
be something more…

Not more dessert stuffs
but more that we must imagine
and dream
and scrape after. Our lives. More.

Like walking on the moon.
(Or at least faking that you walked on the moon.)
Like little family with little babies.
Finishing that book.
Seeing a real otter. Something.

Something that sux you in like fireworks,
an incredible vacuum…

I put out my cigarette in the batter and smile.
Just to myself.
“Must be more to life than friction and strife.”

God may be in the machine but He is not in the Cruller.