Summary: I left a half-eaten bagel in my backpack for about five days because I couldn't finish it because I'd gotten my wisdom teeth taken out. Then it went stale and I didn't want to eat it and I never threw it away.

O, Half-Eaten Bagel

Oh, bagel, I have eaten half of you
and left the other resting underneath
a stack of papers and a hefty book
of poetry. I beg of you, please let
me not find you among a bed of pu-
trid, moldy green. I almost fear to take
thee from my bag for fear of what I will
find clinging on to you. But hunger stabs
at me as I stare upward at the cruel,
cruel clock, and I have hours to wait before
I leave. O half-digested bagel, why
dost thou insist on torturing me so?
And though I know you are now covered in
green hair and flecked with dirt, I still have long
to go before I eat. And I now find
myself considering your fuzzy bread
as sustenance, and I think "Beggars can't
be choosers" to myself and I devour
the sticky, textured growth that thrives upon
your back until you have been terminat-
ed - hardened, dried cream cheese and all, and with
a far-off taste of carcass residue.