Bagels
I knew it would happen.
It’s a pattern.
An old inheritance,
delivered in one sentence:
“Can you pick up the bagels?”
Maybe it’s logistics.
Maybe it’s their limits.
Maybe I’m closest to kindness,
closest to blindness.
I say yes,
Same as the rest.
They betray.
I obey.
To something handed down,
to which I’m bound.
I leave the room.
They resume.
We are equal on paper.
Yet somehow I cater.
I didn’t lose my seat at the table.
Still, I come back with the bagels.
I love what you said without having to say it. The atmosphere, the scene, I felt like I was watching it happen.
Um … I’m always the one who picks up the bagels. Last time I looked, I’m a man-person. So don’t generalize.