I am the lonely outer slice of the loaf.
The ugly duckling in the basket.
Unceremoniously cut off and
Crudely run through with the unforgiving knife.
Treated like the unwanted step-child.
Pray tell me, what sins am I paying for,
That I never get to play with butter,
That I am cast aside for the dog
or strewn to cajole the fishes,
That I lay forgotten in the trash,
Swapping stories of ungrateful parents
With the orange skins and banana peels.
I am the hard shield protecting the softness,
I am the solid cover for your melting bread bowls,
I am the crispy fragrance inside the welcoming bakery.
… yet, I am needed but never wanted!
A discrimination beyond me,
When I am made of the same substance as every other slice.
Is this how it works in your world too?
Discriminating based on the outside
Even while sharing the same core inside?
Grace is hosting a lovely gathering of bread talks and poetry at dVerse. I feel really bad for the outer crust of sliced bread which is almost always ignored, so I decided to show my solidarity through this poem.