A Donut
by Justin Michael Robinson

I took a donut from the table
in the workplace break-room.

Normally, I am a plain, glazed consumer,
but today all that was in the box was

the unexpected chocolate glazed with sprinkles:
explosions of pink, white, and fuchsia on a russet sky.

As I ate, my muse became a metaphor for life.
Rooting me onward, telling me with lighthearted wisdom

to venture off into realms of daydreamed castles-in-the-air
amidst a dissatisfying day:

the kneaded and fried yeast-base
transmuted into a mother giving what all she could
to see her son happy.

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