This one has nothing to do with the theme of writing poetry,
it's just called, "The Bagel."
Maybe it has something to do with it, I don't know.
I stopped to pick up the bagel rolling away in the wind,
annoyed with myself for having dropped it
as it were a portent.
Faster and faster it rolled.
With me running after it bent low, gritting my teeth.
And I found myself doubled over and rolling down the street.
Head over heels, one complete somersault after another,
like a bagel.
And strangely happy with myself.
[LAUGHTER]
[APPLAUSE]
I've got a bunch of bagels here it seems.
[LAUGHTER]
But what are you going to do for breakfast?
Are you going to toast yourself?