Jumbo-Sized

I went to buy a muffin at my local muffin store.

The man said I could jumbo-size for thirty-nine cents more.

I’m pretty sure I got much more than I had bargained for.

I’ve never lived inside a three-floor bran muffin before!

Now maybe you will not believe this woeful pastry story.

Perhaps you think it’s something like a half-baked allegory.

But here I am, encased in crumby, sticky purgatory!

(They also come in blueberry and vegan morning glory).

From dawn to dusk I nibble, nosh, eat up, chow down, and munch,

The walls are soft and pliable, the chimney has a crunch.

I’ve been at this for weeks now, and I sadly have a hunch,

I may live out my days ensnared in puffy perma-brunch!

My mouth I cram, my face I fill, my belly I’ve been stuffin’,

I feel my guts expanding as my arteries all toughen!

I’ve threatened legal action, but the baker knows I’m bluffin’.

A pox upon this cursèd giant loathsome yummy muffin!

If I could order it again, I’m sure I would revise it.

I thought that more was better, but I’m starting to despise it!

Oh please bring me a can of paint—at least I can disguise it!

Or better yet, bring coffee—but be sure to jumbo-size it!