I’m coming apart like a sponge cake,
yet you should know the whole story–
sometimes we’re also known as pound
cake, those dear, sweet after-dinner
sliced loaves, plain country cousins
to the imperial gateau family,
golden, moist (if not stale), foamy
possessing an honest, delectable.
taste to line and nurse the palate
in the company of a warm beverage.
Little is actually known of us,
our lineage goes back to England
400 years ago, before going abroad;
we are, in truth, quite intelligent
and intensely loyal to those who’ve
shown us a kindness or proper
regard and not left us to the rats.
I shouldn’t mention this, but
we are being studied at a certain
West Country laboratory for our military
potential, if needed, all very hush-hush;
we have been trained and are most
adept in small arms fire and projectiles;
don’t make us prove it, we can blow you
and half your town away in a blink
in defense of the realm, of course.
Gene Goldfarb is a writer and poet living on Long Island in New York. Besides writing, his passions are traveling, movies, and reading. His poetry has appeared in Black Fox, SLANT, COG, Green Briar, Quiddity and elsewhere.