Having beaten eggs into whipped

Having beaten eggs into whipped
and heavy cream into peaks
and molded the crust to a tin, and cut
glistening, arced, fat chunks
of sliced peach, we
prepare for pie. Making pie
is the sweetest of all self-deceits
in that in all of baked goods, bads
peek out: boo! Calories! Processed sugars,
sex with professors, heavy syrups, indulgences,
Martin Luther nailing a paper, heaving
with grievances, to a heavy
oak door and on it: a
recipe. Protestant Peach Pie. Well, Marty,
spare me your inordinate affections, your ex-nuns,
your seven rules for better living, your vitriol and
vim, but I do believe I will have a big piece
of That

pie,

when it is good,

Is an unquestionable good.