Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Fix Yourself Some Peanut Butter Toast

After Galway Kinnell

Our bedroom door was locked.
Our radio was turned on loud enough
for the entire family to know
that traffic was light
and there was a 30-percent chance of rain.

The speed of our movements
was insufficient for sweating.

Caresses and kisses
snapped eyes shut
in a passionate focus
on quiet propriety.

The usual words were transformed
into a skin-to-skin telepathy.

In spite of all this,
or, perhaps, because of all this,
there came a knock at the door
and a high-pitched insistence on pancakes.

What followed that knock
was supposed to have been
a muffled come-cry,
but sounded a lot like
"peanut butter toast!"

Pale Horse Review - Winter 2012 (page 8)

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