Smithereens Press Chapbooks 'Rootless' by Jennifer Matthews | Page 14

Breakfast with Bonnie
For WM

Wake to small footed pyjamas,
small footed minutes
and the thick
second hand tock
insists, insists
I wait on my pile of pillows.
The burbling percolator
is pre-set to hiss,
fat seizes on bacon;
for now
the kitchen is ticking
over without you.
In some other room
your spiky rollers,
your economical lips.
I know you
by your starched robe,
its bleached
blue.
I know the scuff
of your thin house shoes.

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