Corps de Ballet

You can’t tell them apart Each a martyr to their art Manifold sore toes And muscular torsos Aspiring learners Become modest earners Growing from duckling to swan Yet ambition’s long gone. Auditioned  Sylphide But did not succeed Also Coppelia Ended in failure Never staged alone She’s always the clone Her amazing grace Her identical face …

Doughnut

You can’t eat a doughnut delicately. Sugared lips demand repeated sweeps Of your pasty sticky tongue. And thick red nectar squirts or drips No matter how you turn This golden speckled feast. So that, jam stained As a voracious three year old, You self consciously Lick and slurp the errant filling From embarrassed fingers.