Treasure Island

David Ignatow

(7 February 1914 - 17 November 1997 / Brooklyn/ New York)

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The Bagel


I stopped to pick up the bagel
rolling away in the wind,
annoyed with myself
for having dropped it
as if it were a portent.
Faster and faster it rolled,
with me running after it
bent low, gritting my teeth,
and I found myself doubled over
and rolling down the street
head over heels, one complete somersault
after another like a bagel
and strangely happy with myself.

Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

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  • Bob French (10/6/2012 12:48:00 PM)

    Really like how simple this poem is. Reminds me that a friend of mine who teaches theology once compared the Trinity to a pretzel. I like to think of this bagel as eternity, representing how life keeps rolling on despite our little problems, which seem big in the perspective of the here and now. (Report) Reply

  • Timothy Farlow (3/30/2012 8:32:00 PM)

    Are you drunk, Sir? Perhaps your brain is addled by drug abuse or the ravages of tertiary syphilis? You surely must be pissed, stoned, or diseased to scribble such dribble. Good day to you, Sir! (Report) Reply

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