Bagels and Calculators

I once believed a bagel was a sacred, noble thing, A circle of wisdom, a torus of spring. Boiled in tradition, baked into lore, Yet here I am, watching folks spread mayo—what for?

They tell me, “If you can’t make the dough by hand, You’ll never understand the bagel’s true stand.” Knead it, proof it, roll it tight, Or else your breakfast ain’t done right.

But listen, Professor of Flour and Yeast, I have a toaster, let me feast. You scorn my shortcuts, my modern ways, Like old men shouting at clouds for days.

You once claimed math must be long and cruel, No shortcuts, no gadgets, just suffering in school. Yet now, in pockets, machines hum and glow, Cranking out answers you swore we’d not know.

So pardon me while I sip my brew, And bite this bagel, fresh and new. For whether it’s dough or sums or gears, Progress rolls forward—it has for years.