Saturday, June 01, 2019

rifle me up some breakfast

the piano stumbled to a halt like a fallen horse.
the room got quiet.
she walked over, pad and pen ready,
with a lift of her eye
shot me the glance
i didn't pause, i let her have it:
2 up, rye toast;
i sat still, mouth closed after that.
she asked, no potatoes, bacon or pie?
i held the reins tight, my coach on course.
coffee me, please.
"What about fresh, smoking, cherry pie
warm out of the oven?"
she gave me that smile she was known for,
and nodded.
"not today, Mandy. as curly your hair,
as bright is your smile,
i'm holding...i'll play these, thank you."
and the piano started up again,
chatter all over, plates clinked,
chairs squeaked and movement
burst out everywhere.

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