Thursday, April 01, 2010


I like the solitude of making breakfast
While the children play
At being heroes elsewhere

I like that feeling
Of working the liturgy of the ingredients
Adjusting the intensity of the fire

I remember camping trips
We would compete for such an honor
It was always a duty to be done alone

Some would smoke as they cooked
Others would look intently at the food
Knowing this would be the last stare
Their last taste of the morning

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