Morning
First light stumbles
Eyes half-closed
Through walls of glass
Three sets
Of long-retired headlights
Looking on impatient
As I race against the clock
A hundred strips of bacon
Sizzle aromatically
Upon the grill
The fryolator bubbling
Beside in eager symmetry.
Two flats of speckled eggs
Are cracked and stirred
While salad freshly prepped
Sits pertly in its
Ice-cooled chest
The ancient rolling toaster
Wheezes into life
Moaning as it coughs
The crumbs from yesterday.
Each register is balanced
Two rolls of pennies
One of quarters
At the ready
At five to seven
A final flick of
Cloth on counter
Then at the door
I pause in silence
In gratitude
For this
The best moment
Of the day.
Penguin Poems 