POEM: Breakfast

Was the white color of a sand palm Its beauty etched out of hunger that spiraled Within our nostrils & lingered among the walls of Prehistoric stomach linings grumbling Thunder under the radar, below anyone’s notice. Aroma had the weight of bacon grease, buoyed Only by the floating gin-scent of waffles grazing blue air as if the Buddha guided it. There was not a prayer hunger was its own prayer, white & hidden In the sopping sounds of bread, in the swirling & Lopping, the jewelry clink of china each Eye turned downward toward the dark coffee Keeping its secrets to the bottom of each cup. Silence served up the breakfast that day The fear of the hunt now abated, Civilized men returned, who tamed the pagan night - Whiskers fell away & axes dulled - the sallow Sound of a “howdy” bellowed in gunshot exchange.