Wonder Bread

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Old Mom rides low
In Son’s silver Camaro
Slinks into Stinksburg for
Miracles of the white loaf,
Jacks into General Store.

She wants some Wonder Bread.

General-behind-counter salutes
To the Pepsi Girl and Cherubs
Under counter with the cold cuts,
Special only on the frozen harvest
Sheaves in cellophane and chips.
He promises Ice Cream with all
Artificial Preservations.

No, she says, just the bread.

General shakes his head.
Understand there is no
Demand for the harvest,
America don’t grow
Good sons no more.

No luck at the store.
Mom drives away in
Silver to try another
Display.

No bread, no wonder.

NaPoWriMo #27

*This is a poem I wrote in college, probably around 1979. At the time, I was very influenced by the Beat poets, heard Allen Ginsberg read “Howl” and Ferlinghetti from “Coney Island of the Mind,” watched Patti Smith and Jim Carroll perform their magic onstage, and lived for a time in the same town as William Burroughs, who read Poe’s “The Raven” at the local radio station every Halloween.

I’m writing a poem every day in April as part of NaPoWriMo’s celebration of National Poetry Month. We may be able to live without poetry, but who would want to?

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2 thoughts on “Wonder Bread

    1. I really appreciate that, Adriene. I’m starting to feel more comfortable in these new threads. And I always look forward to your daily poems in April. Almost there — can’t quite believe it!

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