Poem #6

Milk in its prescribed glass

coffee, one sugar, steaming

a muffin tanned, gleaming with butter

Rain this morning, so 

an egg’s golden eye

peppered with sunspots

However wrong this day may go

ThisNow is perfect






the crunch of eggshell against teeth.



Categories: chickens are birds too, Nests, postcard poems | Tags: , | Leave a comment

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