Olive oil drenched chips
or cooked with sausage in stock,
either way tastes yuck.
Kale me now
1
Tag Archives: writing
Procrastination
Dandelion seed
responsibilities float
away on each breath
Winter sun
Summer is golden
butterscotch, January
skim milk, thin weak pale.
Morning ritual
Light breaks. I heed the
call to darkness, cup rich black
magic in my hands.
All nighter
Weighing sleep against
productivity, I write
into a new day.
Diner
Booths shelter those hung
over, elbows tacky with
pancake syrup spills.
Groceries
Short-term guests in my
fridge, pantry, cabinet — but just
until they are served.
Marriage
Some–like white wine–are
best when young. My French Bordeaux
grows better with age.
Dishes in the sink
Domestic mountains
rimmed with grime, sponge scaling this
Everest of suds.
Overlooked
Forgotten summer
umbrella aged by winter’s
wig of heavy snow.
a haiku a day 