poem of the day March 27


I want a

batch of

fresh baked

cookies

rich ones

made with

real butter and

tons of maple syrup

I want a bag of

potato chips

the greasy ones

kettle fried

I want a bowl

of my mother's

mac and cheese

covered with breadcrumbs

I want all these familiar comforts

to remind me of an old easy going world

now lost in the slow bleed of an infected freeze