If I am to write a poem tonight
about donuts
what could I say
that would seem fresh
new
undespoiled
and worth digesting?

Should I speak
of that first look,
of the glistening circle
just out of the oven
and how exciting
and inviting
and hot it seems
all three hundred and sixty degrees?

Might I mention the smell
as it wafts across the room
escaping the display
and entering me
long before the taste first touches tongue?

The sound as it rustles in the bag
begging for escape
or early arrival into its eventual destination?
The wet sugar melting on fingers,
instants before the soft submission to teeth
gums, tongue and throat?
Do I bring these elements up?
If I must describe the donut on this day
is this the way?

Or must I just admit
that the only donuts left
at this late hour
are old and stale
and devoid of pleasure
much like
these very words?