Friday, August 31, 2012

Sweet Milk

Sometimes I run my tongue
around the mouth of my beard
just to remind myself
what I had for breakfast.

Just now, I tasted
sweet milk left over
from a branny
bowl of cereal
I'd poured using
light from the fridge.

I’d eaten in silence
at just before dawn
like I was at an old
one-pump gas station
in the middle of nowhere
wondering where I was going.



The Broadkill Review (a print-only journal) - August 2012

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