Forty years kneading dough
After the war,
Told me he had found only
Two ways of making bread;
The slow bake of philosophy
the luxury of the rich or high minded,
for the rest, the quick snatch of wonder
between the long steady strokes of the whip.
Then sternly, his strong hand on my shoulder
“Son, always be on the other end of the whip,
for there they eat not bread but cake.
Living is an affair for those who turn on the ovens.