Soggy and soaked, like coffee on buttered toast, that’s how I was left,
All alone, no one at home, but once in a Blue Moon and then no attention.

It all began when my parents ran, together; they were in Love.
Fool-hearty and playful, then things got heated, you know, utensil stuff.

Their lust that day ended up in the batter that would later become me,
The labor wasn’t long, just a few minutes at a time in the hot oil, you see.

I was paid attention to, lavished, buttered and covered with a fine Maple.
I was tasted and nibbled, but never devoured like I was cool.

Now I feel used, because I was; left alone on a plate on the kitchen counter.
Just some flash-in-the-pan, fanciful whim to a breakfast announcer.

There’s no wine, no candlelight for my concern,
I feel dirty, and yet…yet I yearn…

For God’s Sake, I’m just a Stack of Pancakes, just like you.
Someone eat me already.