What the hell
do you put
in your bacon?
My first morning
I slept in my studio
ten minutes away,
thought breakfast:
some fruit,
yogurt,
granola.
Healthy.
At the breakfast table
the bacon
talked to me,
whispered
into my
pink
cold
ear
and if I tell you
what it said,
you too
will fall prey.
I moved
to be closer
to the bacon.
I sleep in Pan's now,
a short jog away.
I get up
now
not at ten,
but at seven,
waiting,
anticipating.
You are sly bacon folk.
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