Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Lunch Poem #2
By Rebecca L. Morrison

The first time I wrote about lunch I talked
about the same stir-fry every time, and today
is just another stir-fry, and last night
was just another stir-fry, which I ate on my
frameless mattress, waiting for you to open
the door so I could ignore you until you
wandered to find me, which you didn't,
and after five minutes of your kitchen grocery
rustling, I wandered to find you, and you asked
me why I'd waited so long to tell you I was
there in our space. Now I munch my stir-fry, and
the folks traipsing in from outdoors are all wet,
and I call you to ask if there's rain where you are,
and you tell me you're dry and you'll be home late,
and that this weekend we will go to the state fair.

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