18 November 2009

day seventeen of the poem-a-day challenge


The black smoke rises like a
cat stretching after a nap. I used
to be able to smell it. I used to
like the smell. I used to do it on
purpose just so I could inhale the
withery scorch . In the middle of
the day I drive back to my place just
to watch a slice of bread go from
golden brown to charcoal.

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