Poetry from Noah Berlatsky

The Toast

The problem with being a failure is you don’t get to stop.

You’ve got to get up every day and have the toast laugh at you.

And worse you have to make that toast.

Carve your name in it with a hot poker.

That isn’t hot.

Carve your name in it with a lukewarm poker.

Then eat the name which tastes like rubbery chicken.

And go out with that chicken in your throat squawking.

You’ve got to live with that every day.

And get up and try to get the giant stone monolith to make you toast.

It won’t but you keep asking.

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