Donuts

Am I the only one who thinks
We as Americans
Are underachieving
In the field of donuts?

I used to see
A small family-run pastry business
At every corner
On every street in America

These artisans allured our senses
Aroused our inner glutton
With crullers and fritters
And rings of perfection
Wrought from formless dough by the manly hands of the cook
And glazed with sweet frosting by the delicate touch of his wife
There were enticements to conquer all restraint

But then came the robber barons
Dunkin' Donuts
So stingy as not to spring for a "g" in their name
And Krispy Kream
I can think of only one organization more liberal in its use of the letter K

Watch their crass mechanical process
As jelly donuts go down the assembly line
As yet bereft of jelly
And the great robotic jelly-injection apparatus lowers
And impregnates each one with jelly
Not with tender caress
But as a bull impregnates his bovine mate

Oh Krispy Kream
Your donuts are like reincarnation
A perfect, unending circle.
Also, impossible to swallow.

Oh for the true pastry chef to arise
To drown them all in vats of their own frosting
To topple the sprinkler's table
And create true donuts again.