Bread with an attitude
Winds up as toast
Men with their aptitudes
Toasted at roasts
He gets the glory; the woman . . . she goes;
Though ladies boost egos.
Stale bread gets tossed away
Blows in the wind,
Crumbles, floats in the bay
Just a has-been
Where are the mothers and others who raised them?
Put in homes on a whim!
Loaves take a while to rise
That comes with age
Bread is money disguised
It’s slang . . . the rage
Upon the pedestal in his glory
Crusty, stale . . . past forty
Imbibed with attitude . . .
And soon to be crushed,
Stuffed in a roast.