
on this twentieth of march
the poet slept like a log
once he had taken medication
for his shoulder joint pains
no wonder/ as it had snowed
at night
the morning’s air fresh/ but
off to the social shop
fill his trvel bag with good
selected foodstuff:
ratatouille from the deep freeze
bakeries and whole wheat rolls
vanilla cescents/ bitter chocolate
carrot juice/chicken with rice
and some curry sauce/ uncle ben’s
rice with quinola/ three oranges
from spain.
all good enough for a week and
more/ until a monthly minimal
pension arrives
were it not for my muse mmm
i wouldn’t have tasted delicious
carnival-domuts
filled with superb apricot jam
from her favourite pastry shop.
mmmh.mmh.mh.
from the five piece box
the poet ate three immediately
delightful. fluffy. irresistible.
his evening meal.
donut.tunod
carneval.lavenrac
zoltanzelan8
zjg poetry’21.