Dough Boy Poem by Matthew Zeller
Dough Boy
Rating: ★4.0
Floured hands kneaded,
pressed palms of her hands,
shaped to how she wanted.
She rolled him.
Just right. Flat.
Sprinkled a little more flour on
the cutting board
to avoid sticking.
Thin strips, twisted to
a pretzel of his former self.
Salted wounds, baked alive.
Washed her hands of him.
Devoured half,
threw the rest away.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Topic(s) of this poem: wounds
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8/7/2026 3:38:21 AM # rel_20260806T081513Z_580e7f4
