The Awful Bagel Of Truth
There were a couple of Muses.
And a couple of Horses of the Apocalypse.
But only was there ever ONE awful
Bagel Of Truth
Here on the front seat of my car, growing rapidly staler by the decade.
I couldn't eat them all. I grow tired of bagels, after two
And this one lingered on
Lingered, like the scent of cigarette smoke even in the "no-smoking" section
Mocking me. Smug as a smile.
Apparently having some information I was not privy to.
I should have wound the window down
And chucked it, sending it across the highway
like a tire explodes from the right front rim of a sixteen-wheeler...
but it's still here. I won't confront it.
The Awful Bagel Of Truth sits, defying bite marks, solid as Stonehenge
on the front seat of my car.
I drive on.
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