Anagram Poem
Abhishek Raol
Writing 241
Assignment
04/08/2013
Bread
in the oven
The clock chimes eight times, French bread in oven
The smell fills the room and seeps in others
Like the smell of ganja lingering about
Oppressed in the open yet prominent
The saliva in my mouth now alive
But I must get this smell out of my mind
Society preventing to steal
That loaf of tender bread from the oven
Like post war paranoia I want to
The pulses of pots and pans sound like guns
However I’m scared I won’t contain
My hunger, simply cant wait to devour
Afraid to go hungry to my graveyard
The aroma like music, trapped in flow
Foods mischievous trick to make men so plump
Others descent down, distracted by smell
As the others
wander to the kitchen
I have a minute to make my escape
I’m going crazy, I must get away
The sound-system will keep them tuned to it
When the noise reaches its peak I will sneak
Out of the house, sly like a little mouse
Running through a pipe, trying to be free
Like I kite let lose into the crisp night
I finally cross the floors to the door
And run wildly into the summer air
Away from the fumes of food and cooking
I run on my street, my feet grow darker
With the night, barefooted I just take flight
Enjoy, the crisp, cool, calm, collected air
Until my mom’s voice echoes through my hood
Finally time for my delicious meal
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