Wednesday, May 16, 2018

An egg for breakfast


Affectionately nicknamed, fried-egg poppy.  Stridently cheerful.  Downright optimistic.  One bloom is an entire garden.  Paper skin -- perfect for a petite poem.  Written, of course, in yellow ink.

1 comment:

  1. She grabs the pepper to sprinkle on the dish, the puts it back in the wrong place.
    Asks about the train schedule. Turns the timer over. A cantankerous figure in the foreground approaches, sliding on the newly mopped floor, barely upright, curses and then hugs the corner of the cabinet.

    V-neck sweater. Forbids cartoons before breakfast. Scent of old spice.

    Exigent circumstances fumbling on the crabby moor?

    Always continues cooking no matter what.

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