Summer in New York
Children frying sidewalk eggs
Beside my French toast

Proudly I preside
Nineteen toasters hum in sync
A kitchen aflame

Intensely focused
I anticipate my toast
Somewhere a dog barks

Toast in pitch black room
With a beautiful painting
Valuable toast

Whole-grain metaphor
Anguish soon will dissipate
A bread transfigured

Head hung in despair
Morning offering rises
I thank my toaster

Angry toastless man
Malfunctioning appliance
Senseless killing spree

Ritualistic
A genesis of breakfast
Immaculate toast

Spirit channeling
Through my toasted breakfast treat
Elvis on my plate

Consume nirvana
God is not to be eaten
But toast will suffice