an ode to room service

The only thing I love more
than an English muffin

is an English muffin
delivered to my door in a little basket

lovingly nestled in a cloth napkin
accompanied by individual pots of jam

and paid for by an agency that helps gays and lesbians produce children in ways that would have been biologically impossible just years ago, but now allows for the purchase of genetic material from young women with good SAT scores, and its transport across state lines.

That is how much I love English muffins.