Smells Like Toast

The earth’s a ball — afloat
In the sky, and the sky
Is a bowl of smoke —
And the smoke smells like toast.
The crust of the earth,
And you. Your toast, your crust,
Your disposable shoe,
And your airplanes, too
Your B-52, and your F-16.
Your F-150 Ford.
That After-lover, Ford
The two of them, those lizard men
With their frightened, lizard brains
Their mutual love for the automobile
For them the perfect vehicle
To devolve into turtles
And truly become reptilians
Though that’s unfair to turtles
Swimming through the water
Smelling the fire
Watching the smoke
The ringing alarms
For so long now the norm
They barely register anymore, here
In the ever-retreating center
Of the ever-expanding sphere

Elliot Sperber is a writer, attorney, and adjunct professor. He lives in New York City and can be reached at and on twitter @elliot_sperber