By Cass Kieck
Sit pretty, strain a smile
on a cold Sunday morning
at the kitchen table set for one.
Gather your tools: a fork and a knife,
one mug of black coffee, water, no ice.
Prepare to fight.
Sit pretty, strain a smile
at an apple cider donut with brown sugar glaze
waiting for you on an off-brand paper plate.
Your sigh signals the battle cry. Watch cinnamon sugar
fire ants dance with a brigade of empty calories.
Take a bite.
Sit pretty, strain a smile
as the enemy lingers on your lips, deep-fried
dough in your mouth. The mission is in motion. Cut-
up chunks tumble toward the perimeter of the plate;
stab them with your fork, don’t let them get away.
Take a bite.
Sit pretty, strain a smile
and savor the slice of the knife
down the dough. Tell yourself it feels
pain, like the scratch of sugar stuck
in your throat. Breathe out one final sigh.
Take a bite.
Sit pretty, strain a smile
at the crumb-dusted trophy,
the specks of spared lives. Tears sting your eyes
as carbs sink to the bottom of your stomach.
Who’s the winner now? No time to think,
begin the countdown to lunch.
