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.)