Breakfast (NaBloPoMo)

BREAKFAST

I sit at the kitchen table,
reading and sipping,
coffee and words
just the way I like them,
thick and hot.

I choke on the word ergonomic
and see you from the corner of my eye
cracking eggs with one hand,
the yellow yolk always landing first
in the sizzling skillet.

After each shell empties
you hold it
for just a second,
your hand rising in the air
as if applauding its own dexterous flair
before you fling it into the trash can.

I was never very good
at cooking breakfast,
too much motion
too early in the day
leads to operator's fatigue.

It's better this way;
the early bird makes eggs,
dancing across the kitchen
like a spiral doodle on
the edge of a notebook page,
the night owl perches on a chair,
warm sweater buttoned to the throat,
greeting the morning
reluctant as a semicolon.

NaBloPo(etry)Mo

It's November 1st (well, okay, technically it's November 2nd, but I haven't gone to bed yet, so it's still the 1st in my mind). I'm participating in NaBloPo(etry)Mo. My goal is to write a poem a day, for better or for worse.