Before children I wrote poetry. I also smoked like a fiend when I wrote. Gave up smoking. Gave up poetry. I miss it – the poetry that is.

I heard a news story a while back about the swans in Stratford, Ontario… how baby cygnets were dying from the white bread people were feeding them. They became dependent on it and it was not nutritious enough to sustain them. I wrote this poem after hearing the story:


Death by Wonderbread
(We meant well)


By Christina Friedrichsen


Take this bread.

This token of our love.



the host

With your young


pecking for



Eat well

by us


And depend

And be damned.


By us.



too stale for sandwiches.

hot dog buns



White, bulk

for swan stomachs.

like potato chips

to a baby.


kid hands

old women,

men, lonely



Meaning well.


We want you back


dear cygnets.


Swans in Stratford

dead  from Wonderbread.


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