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# Spongeworthy
- URL: https://dianaludwick.com/spongeworthy/
- Published: 2026-07-25T04:46:00.000Z
- Updated: 2026-10-24T20:06:38.000Z
- Description: “Spongeworthy,” a zesty accounting of what it takes to get on the short list of eligible recipients for my hand-wrought sourdough gluten-free bagels, written Saturday, July 25, 2026 poem 206 in a series of 365 poems written by Diana Ludwick in 2026. Photo by Diana Ludwick © 2026.
- Author: Diana Ludwick
- Tags: 2026 Poetry Challenge, Geriatric Millennial, Homage, Humor, Loosely Hinged, Poems, Pun-y / Tongue-in-Cheek, Unserious, 1990s, Bagels, Burgundy Flags, Elaine, Everything Bagel, Everything Spice, General Admission, Gluten Free, Ham-Fisted, High Summer, Homemade, Hot and Bothered, Innuendo - or is it???, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, July, Mom Don't Read This, My Sister in Sass and Judgement, Oaf-Mouthed, Of the Brad-ing Kind, Over-the-top, Parody, Proofing, Seinfeld, Slightly-Hinged, Sourdough, Sponge, Spongeworthy, Summer, Triticum vulgarius, Un-Spongeable, #Migrated-1792872215677, #wp, #wp-post, #Import 2026-10-24 20:03

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.