1.Pies have a reputation.And it’s immediate—no talk of potentialRegarding a pie. It’s goodOr it isn’t, but mostly it is—sweet, very sweetRight then, right there, blue and red.It can’t go to junior college,Work hard for the grades,Work two jobs on the side.It can’t slowly build a reputationAnd a growing client base.A pie gets one chanceAnd knows it, wearing as makeupThose sparkling granules of sugar,As a collar those diamond cutoutsBespeaking Fair Day, felicity, contentment.I tell you everything is great, says a pie,Great, and fun, and fine.And you smell nice, too, someone says.A full pound of round sound, all ahh, all good.Pies live a life of applause. 2.But then there are the other pies.The leftover pies. The onesNobody chooses at Thanksgiving.Mincemeat? What the hell is that? people ask,Pointing instead at a double helping of Mr.“I-can-do-no-wrong” pecan pie.But the unchosen pies have a long history, too.They have plenty of good stories, places they’ve been—They were once fun, too—But nobody wants to listen to them anymore.Oh sure, everybody used to love lard,But things have changed, brother—things have changed.That’s never the end of the story, of course.Some pies make a break for it—Live underground for a while,Doing what they can, talking fast,Trying to be sweet pizzas, if they’re lucky.But no good comes of it. Nobody is fooled.A pie is a pie for one great day. Last week,It was Jell-O. Tomorrow, it’ll be cake.