Something to consider before that voice in your head wins the debate and convinces you that there is indeed solace to be found in a good old-fashioned round of trance-eating…
The Pillsbury Dough Boy never visited my kitchen
Never meandered onto the counter top to smile, while
Offering up his white, soft belly for a poke.
All I had was a can –
Slammed open for dough that oozed like a snake
Shoved in the oven for my Joy…my sanity
30 minutes later the oven is cold
And I am sticky, sluggish, and empty
The tattered container of cinnamon bun dough
Lies on the counter, uncoiled
Like a used grenade.