“When Toasted Bread Became a Luxury”

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I toast my white bread,
One slice at a time,
Waiting,
Wanting,
Needing,
That simplest of life’s now luxuries,
A quiet moment of anticipation,
The smell of cooked flour,
No notes of yeast,
On my 50 cent bargain loaf,
When will this toast be toasted,
This damn cheap toaster takes an hour,
White bread,
The only thing I can afford,
The colors of brown in bread,
Are beyond my poor native fingertip’s reach,
Brown is expensive,
Brown is rare,
Unique,
Made unduly exotic,
In a sea of white bread,
Shelved by status,
By cost,
Cost I must carry as a chosen burden,
To eat that brown flour,
Risen in ovens hotter than this lick,
Yeast and wheat and grandma’s bird feeder,
My brown memories are too expensive,
Top shelf,
Not,
On,
Sale.

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