Katya kicked the bagel across the kitchen floor
Scooped it up, buttered it, and kicked it somewhat more
Danced around the cluttered room, a blur of worn chenille
Using all parts of her slippered foot, from toe to threadbare heel
It lodged beneath the fridge, amid dust and long-dead bugs
Rice from old takeout and shards of shattered mugs
She put on her bifocals to see where it had gone
Rubbed’er nose, scratched’er chin, let out a giant yawn
Bent down to dislodge it, dusted it off a bit
And mumbled to her sleeping cat, “This bagel tastes like shit.”