..... poetry .....




The flowers were selected the night before,
    destined for the pristine cherry wood table
    that stood before a large picture window.

Darting birds and meandering foxes entertained themselves
    above and below the redwood deck,
    while the nearby creek slumbered,
    and remembered.

The menu, long since decided,
    the Guest of Honor's favorite for mid-day —
    grilled vegetables,
    scrambled eggs, and
    a sprouted wheat bagel.

Hosted on three different
    shapes and shades of white cookware,
    the food positively beamed
    while the sun poured into the room
    like butterscotch.

It was as if the food and flowers
    were signaling to each other —
    ready to receive someone very,
    very important.

Finally, the chef took off his hat,
    and slipped back into his bathrobe,
    sat down at the cherry table,
    and felt like

June 2018





©2018, Michael Smolens