Heartpen: Poems of a Cardiac Quill

Death by Biscuit

Getting the right amount of butter on a biscuit is an art not easily mastered.

I feared greatly as the biscuit

was lathered so fiercely

it expanded and grew soggy.

Thought I, What is this drenched baked beast of yeast

that it must be anointed with margarine repeatedly,

lugubriously, without rest or reprieve

for a poor plastic-knife-wielding anointer?

Does the fluffy, flour-based fiend

swim in its nonfat, fatty swamp:

the lifeblood of Lassens Health Foods?

How long before the dough-birthed behemoth

turns murderous, belching up powdery puffs

and outstretching its

glutinous gluten-free arms

that it might pull me down

into its olive-oil-like shallows,

restrain me at its bready bosom,

and carry me off to my buttery doom?