Sometimes I dread
The cream cheese I spread,
Fearing it will drop
From the bagel’s curved top,
Or from the knife’s long tip,
Or the container’s plastic lip,
Onto the floor
In one splotch or more,
Which then without knowing,
The coffee much flowing,
I’ll mistakenly track
On the floor front and back,
So that there appears
A host of white smears,
That are surprisingly sticky
And exceedingly tricky
To wipe from the tile —
It’ll take you a while.
So whenever I observe
Some cream cheese to swerve
From the bagel or bread
I’d intended to spread,
I always take care
To clean it right there,
–If business will allow–
With cloth and a bow–
I wipe from the tile
The dangerous white pile,
Then return to my ease
Unworried by cheese.

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