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Ryan O'Leary
Poems
Aug 2019
Well, bread.
As in everything pertaining
to our daily staple, it differs
not from listings in Debrett.
Are we, what we eat must
surely be the relevant question
of one's consuming etiquette.
A class system exists in all our
lives whether we like it or not.
There is a hierarchy, on the shelf.
We gravitate to the comfort zone
where we are familiar. Our baskets
contain the roots of our family tree.
Palates are hereditary, taste needs
no acquisition, quality is congenital,
ingrained, wholesome. Well, bread.
Written by
Ryan O'Leary
Mallow.
(Mallow.)
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