Why I am Not a Piece of Cake


waiting to be eaten,
sitting on a delicate plate
ringed in roses while the tea steeps.
I could never be so obedient, resigned 
to sliding down someone’s throat 
after frosting and sponge 
were gnashed and tumbled 
by teeth and tongue.
I do not like dark, moist places
that bypass the heart and stomachs
are full of acid - I refuse to land there!
In fact, I’d only agree to be 
a lemon cake
immortalized by Wayne Thiebaud’s art
tall, proud, yellower than the sun
on a July day and so tart as to turn 
away the tongue and shrivel the teeth,
nothing like a gooey fruit pie that looks 
at lips and begs a French kiss, 
desiring to be devoured. Not me!
I would grace the cover of  Bon Appetite
and strut the runway at Fashion Week,
Anna Wintour would beg an interview but
I would save my witty repartie for
Cuisine et Vins de France, live a life 
basking under the French sun 
being worshiped for my beautiful crumb.

Today’s prompt from NaPoWriMo.net: Today, we challenge you to write a similar kind of self-portrait poem, in which you explain why you are not a particular piece of art (a symphony, a figurine, a ballet, a sonnet), use at least one outlandish comparison, and a strange (and maybe not actually real) fact.

Here is a piece about Wayne Thiebaud and his art. Scroll to see “Lemon Cake” that inspired this poem. Yum!

My “Something Small, Every Day (or so)” series is inspired by Austin Kleon’s piece here where he says, “Building a body of work (or a life) is all about the slow accumulation of a day’s worth of effort over time.”