Kitchen haiku

tender meat ruined,
steamed instead of fried –
cook’s profuse apologies

my egg peeled of dignity
piece by shattered piece,
hardboiled, life scooped out

leftovers of hearts
nourish the god of rupture
in a sunset shrine

on a window ledge,
celery and carrot tops
send out their new roots

the stale bread hardens,
we cannot even cut it –
it must be thrown out

empty pores of skin –
the years have sucked out their hope,
leaving dry decay

to make your fortune in fish,
rise when dawn is cast
and sharpen your knife

(First published in The Lake, May 2015.)