Spongeworthy

Elaine was onto something.

Not everyone is a valid bet.
Ham-fisted, oaf-mouthed 
guffawing members 
of the Brad-ing kind
show themselves out.
Their casual verbal murder 
of any food devoid of proteins 
arising from triticum vulgaris
are all the burgundy flags I need.

Ever so few are the lucky,
those who've been 
fully examined and came up 
deserving of my goods;
Spongeworthy.

Specifically,
worthy of receiving
my brown rice and teff-raised
sourdough sponge
that I coddle and proof for hours 
as preamble 
—foreplay if you're nasty—
while it steadily engorges, 
awaiting the main event: 
homemade everything bagels.
(where did you think this was headed?)

Out-of-this-world, 
mouth-watering ones,
that sprung forth into creation
—from starter to sponge
to supple dough trembling moist and ready
thick, bouncy rounds
teased rhythmically 
pierced by a dowel, 
flung vigorously into fat rings, 
then left to rise some more,
which then calls for a break,
luxuriating in fragrant, 
molasses-thick bath water,
before being absolutely covered in seed 
confetti, shaken and tossed 
in heat to completion —
it all came
from me, 
my unfiltered outbursts,
and my overworked hands.

My bagels are limited edition,
not easily replaced, no substitute,
and sadly, though I might wish otherwise,
I can't be doing this all day.

I have to anticipate my capacity 
and allot my treasures appropriately.
Ration and deliver judiciously
to only those who truly understand 
the honor, the privilege 
of getting into my pantry.

Because that uninhibited glee 
as I shout to the heavens
and pump my fists
groan with pleasure 
and sigh, Again! 
as I cram another bite 
of Philly cream into my greedy mouth,
and my eyes roll backwards in a haze,
that experience is not 
for general admission ticket.

And for that short list of those 
with whom I'd grant
this tantalizing experience:
Do you make the cut?

Well, if you can't throw back your head 
cry out in delight
praise me and my life-giving magic
and beg for more, 
then why are you even here?

Because by a certain age,
it comes loud and clear 
that some moments 
are too good to share 
with those deemed
Un-Spongeable.


= = = 
And to Elaine, A/K/A Julia, 
my sister in sass and judgement, 
you're good. 
I'll save you one, oven-fresh.
You earned it.