”Write!” Terry said, and pointed toward the computer,

“The deadline will be upon us soon.”In the afternoon they came unto a hunger

Which felt like it had been there since June.

Through the open window the scented air did swoon

Thick with temptation from Krispy Kreme.

Hypoglycemia did weaken the body and increase the gloom;

And like a Siren’s song, a donut dream

Did haunt this writing team.

Oh, dough of dreams! some with a sugary coatDripping off of their perfect curves with a golden glowAnd some with sprinkles and custard and flavors unspoken. Between them only five dollars to blowThey saw the gleaming “Hot Doughnuts Now” sign glow From the upstairs office. Nearby the glorious machine dropsThe wondrous rounds of dough,Soft and golden brown and dew’d with sugary tops!

They longed to eat this staple of the cops.

The charmed store an ever present thought.

Where for five dollars a box of bliss can be bought.

But, alas, the locations are but a few

And the stock price is nearing double naught.

Bordered with green and many a winding queue,

All clamoring for a few;A store where all donuts bask in fame!

’Round about with faces pale, Like moths to the deadly flame,

The round-bellied Donut-Eaters did come.

In boxes they carried the enchanted dough,

Laden with a taste and joy, their hearts doth craveTo snack, but when doth their consumption beginSo to taste the rush and sugary wave?Far, far away did seem his partner’s mouth-full raveOf enchantment; And if his fellow spake, His voice was ignored, as a voice full of mistake;

And deep-asleep the Donut-Eater will seem, yet wide awake

To the music in his mouth the taste buds make.

They sat theirs down near the yellow linesBetween a Porsche and Datsun of the poor; And sweet it was to eat and forget deadlines, Carbs and blood-sugar counts; but evermoreContended seemed Terry, quoting the raven, “ ‘Nevermore’Shall we make our weary fingers type.”Then said Bill, “We shall slave our minds no more.”

And all at once they sang, “It is like hunting snipe -

Fame is faraway and no one reads what we type!”

There are none with greater tasteNot even those that Happy Donuts makeOr those from Little Debbie bought in hasteNear a highway overpass;Donuts that are holier than Mac’s fries,More rapturous than what Dunkin plies. Donuts that bring ecstasy down from the blissful skies.Here our love runs deep,And tho’ the manager was a creepAnd in his steam did almost make us weep,

We have had our fill and long to sleep.

Why are we plagued with such heavinessAnd utterly consumed with permanent pressWhile all others have rest from weariness?

Other writers have readers, why should we type for no one?We type and type our fingers to the ringsAnd with puns make each other moan,

from deadline to deadline thrown.Alas, we need Buffalo WingsAnd to cease these website postings.We would rather lunch at the PalmAnd cruise Rodeo Drive for bling.”There is no joy but calm!

Why should we type and know not whether these lines laughter bring?”