Donuts.

Donuts presented problems.
 
..O..O..O..

Without sugar, I test-piloted

dozen

(after dozen)

growing glazed in choking rings,

certain the

next

(crueler)

would be sweet

–I mean…donuts!

Aren’t all turnovers sweet?

kicking scones to curb at last

–and then reluctantly—

because…donuts!

You get in a real rut with donuts, but

setting shoulders

and apple’y core,

I dusted myself clean with first–

adjusting hair

with pins…

taking hairpin after

hairpin and

cramming it in

do

~missing flyaways~

and locks like you wouldn’t believe

(so who’s telling)

but as my days of metal-head were

long gone,

I gave those up, too,

–less reluctantly…

since…

(hairpins)

moving on

and on

and on

and in tine, deemed the Queen Mum no more important

than self, so I

dropped silver

(and “special” before “awesome”)

occasion

negotiating the fork

in the road,

never once quoting

Frost.

prompt: fork

He is music.

a string theory

sometimes classic,

and sensible arrangement

sometimes love,

violins & silly putty

sometimes rhythm and blues,

no Tambourine Man

and sometimes easy listening–

everyday theme that contradicts category

He is the crescendo in every melody,

the harmony in the pain.

prompt: music