A poem about being grateful when good things come your way, rather than thinking that there is some hidden agenda or dire cosmic motive.
Would you like some toast?
Could you be an imposter?
A spider crawling up from the drainpipe?
The scraping of the knife
as it butters the toast?
Could you be an imposter?
A remnant of a toenail clipping,
left on the floor,
piercing an unsuspecting heel?
Could you be an imposter?
Why was that toast offered?
How was it offered?
Out of politeness?
As weapon of kindness?
Purely a pragmatic gesture?
Is it safe to assume you would decline
if I offered you toast?

http://www.flickr.com/photos/yomi955/881531299/
Could you be an imposter?
I offered you toast!
No need to get flippant!
No need to infer any motive!
Just toast!
Just toast!
Just be grateful!
Be grateful when people give you things.
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