My French Toast has a fly on it.
An earthworm burrows through the stacks of Pancakes that I fried up in my bland cookware.
The Bacon on my table top.
♦
My days pass by
like a slow boat
to my own home,
where I already sit.
♦
My face is shiny
from the eight showers
I have taken this morning,
to pass time.
♦
Alone in the barn,
I try to rid my food of the small vermin
which are destroying what was supposed to be one more
joyous morning of eating
and a morning, again, of waiting in the barn.
♦
I still must wait.
While my mornings of waiting and too many showers
are the only true facsmile of a life,
I cannot bear much more time
of no true action in my life.
♦
The bland sameness
of the house is interrupted
only by those insects
disrupting my food.
♦
I shall let them stay.
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