There is a massive donut
In the sky. It’s kinda dark;
I guess that makes it chocolate flavored.
It swirls, counterclockwise, and pelts
The ground below with bits of icing.
The weather man calls it precipitation.
The woman attempting to walk
Through the door while opening
Her umbrella calls it rain.
I call it an omen from the god of gluttony,
A warning for me to remain
In the cafe and order another coffee and donut.
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen