Boulangeries’ cakes can be sad,
Like Left-Bank poets (once
Poètes maudits who, raving mad,
Penned verse that still affronts).
Glum bakers have no decency.
Their sweets make us obese.
Their efforts in calligraphy
Drip snail tracks of grease.
Their rosettes and their sprinkles cloy,
Their frosting’s reason’s thief.
But, oh, in buttercream, the joy
Of swallowing their grief!