Friday, September 12, 2014

Eating Toast.

This week,
I discovered the singular pleasure
of eating toast.

It's one of the simplest
and most iconic foods
there is.

Think of it--

you take a soft piece of bread,
warm it up,
make it crispy.
Then you immediately put butter on it
which melts before your eyes,
making it soft again.

You're left with a strange texture
that somehow manages to be
incredibly soothing.

The secret,
I've discovered,
and the reason I'm such a latecomer
to the realm of toast,
is butter.

Not margarine.

If being content
despite how hard life is
had a taste,
it would be the rich but understated taste
of butter
on bread.
It fills every grumpy corner
of your little body
with light.

I was thinking about toast
as I was eating it this morning.

And I decided
that eating toast
should never be suffered
to be multitasked.

Toast should only be eaten
in silence
next to a sunny window.

Then I decided to have
a third piece.

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