Ode To A Crumpet Poem by Aisle Walton

Crunchy-soft and crinkled to your core
of cramped, cream-salted, butter-melted sating:
you comfort with your crenellated smile
as, cradled in the toaster, still awaiting
full maturity of style,
you get a bit browner than before.

Your surface is a mottled, pockmarked thing,
but then again it’s easy to spot holes
when actually these perforations make you
what you are, whilst things beyond control
are best forgotten. Instead, let’s take two
seconds, or two verses worth, remembering
that a Crumpet’s right is to a happy ending.